


Reaching Toward Dawn

by Escopeta



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Minor - Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth, Multiple Pov, Novelization, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre- and Post-Timeskip, Rated For Violence, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, because this is gonna be one long fucking story, saddle up and hold onto your horses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 341,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escopeta/pseuds/Escopeta
Summary: A mercenary. The "Ashen Demon", known for cutting through enemies with a blank expression all the while on her face. An emotionless child only a father can love.Then she finds herself within the walls of Garreg Mach Monastery, surrounded by cheerful faces and earnest voices. Ones that spark a warmth in her chest, spreading from the inside out.Time is lost, and now she's in the midst of a war. Innocence is scarce and the years have chipped away at the soft shells of those she has come to understand as 'friends'.Through it all, there is a lone smile. A bright one with all the radiance of the sun. It's a smile which makes her think that one day, she'll know what it feels like to have a heart that beats.{ Updates every Friday. }





	1. I

#### ⧼ I ⧽  
  
Fateful Encounters

It’s always the same dream, over and over again.

There’s a war-torn landscape. Fresh blood smears on the blades of grass in a brilliant red until they seep into the soil from the pounding rain. Horses, pegasi, and wyverns join their riders in the ever growing number of limp bodies on the ground.

A woman with mint green hair and fury in her eyes stands alone, her white battle robes the only sense of color in the muted scenery of destruction. Standing yards before her is man in armor stained with his enemies’ blood. There’s a wicked grin stretched across his wrinkled face as he stares her down. Around them, their armies combat each other in a circle, as if to not dare interfere with what they don’t understand.

His sword extends and acts as a long-reaching whip. The woman is disarmed and narrowly dodges the blade. Then she sprints and sends a punch to his face before she kicks him in the chest, throwing him off his feet. She screams at him, her voice vengeful for… the fallen? For someone in her past? It’s unknown. The woman stabs a dagger through his chest, over and over and over again, angry sobs escalating with every thrust into his sternum. The force is strong enough to pierce through his breastplate.

The rain stops. The ground is muddied with a mix of sweat, tears, and blood. The woman gives a sigh as the sun rises above the horizon to peak behind the mountains at the hard-won victory.

She takes the sword of the dead man and cradles it to her face. Her fingers are gentle along the strange material it’s made out of. The woman closes her eyes, hands stained with the life of the man lying dead at her knees. Some of his blood brushes on her cheek as she holds the sword there.

“It is alright now, Mother,” she says in a soft voice. “I have done it. He is no more.”

A large throne in an empty void appears.

It’s made of a green stone with a vague symbol of a flame carved into the looming headrest. A young girl yawns as she sits there, stretching her arms above her head. She leans her elbow on the armrest, flicking one of her braids away from her face. Her hair is abundant, a shimmering green. It cascades behind her and fills the seat of the throne. Ears are long and pointed, much like some of the creatures in storybooks. Deceptively human.

Her silk robes and gold adornments make her seem like she should be someone important. Someone revered.

The girl opens her eyes, rubbing at them with a fist. They’re a brilliant green, staring into her own as she studies her.

“Oh my,” she says, tilting her head. “How did you end up here?”

She’s not sure how to answer. The girl considers her for a moment, and then beckons gracefully with a finger. “Come closer. I wish to have a look at you.”

Tentative steps forward, and the throne suddenly feels all that more imposing. The girl hums. “Now, who might you be? I do not think I have ever seen you before. Are you mortal?”

_I think so._

“You think so? Well, from what I can see, you are human. That much I am certain of. Under which day of which moon were you born?”

_The 20th day of the Horsebow Moon._

“How curious!” The girl smiles as she sits upright. “We share the same date of birth. What is your name, mortal one?”

_Byleth._

“Ah, a very human name, yes. I do not believe I will ever get used to your species’ naming conventions.”

_Who are you?_

“Me? I am…,” she blinks, then frowns as she stares at the floor, “I cannot recall my own name…. Why can I not remember?” The girl taps her forehead with an index finger. “I do have a name, I do. It is just that I cannot for the life of me,” she yawns again, eyes drooping, “my memory is… hmm… perhaps I should…”

⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢

** _3rd of the Great Tree Moon, 1180 _**━

Byleth wakes before she can ask the mysterious girl why she continues to dream of the same thing. It’s not every night, but it’s every so often in the past year—too often that it has to mean something. She had seen this person before; the girl would appear only in flickers after the war scene played out. But this is the first time she’s ever been able to actually speak to her. To actually get a good look at her.

Apparently, that’s all she’ll be able to get for a while.

Whenever she wakes, that’s it. She can’t possibly go back to sleep until nightfall of the new dawn. She’s always been a light sleeper. Always able to survive on only a few hours of rest, ever since she was a child. Might as well rise now that she’s conscious.

She’s alone in the room of the inn. Moonlight shoots through the window and marks a spot on the wooden floor. The moon isn’t low enough to be nightfall, so it has to be early morning. Her father Jeralt isn’t in the room with her. He must already be awake and mobilizing their mercenary group to begin the trek toward their next job. Working on a mercenary’s salary doesn’t allow for much idleness in towns.

After making herself decent, Byleth exits the room in her usual light armor. She’s never had to wear too much of it (aside from not being able to afford to keep replacing parts), but it’s a second skin. As much of her identity as her own name.

She finds her father on the first floor of the inn. Some of the mercenaries greet her a good early morning as they eat the minimal breakfast afforded to them by the inn keeper. Jeralt is at the window closest to the door, peering out at the moon. When he notices her approach, he gives a nod.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks. “You didn’t need to be awake for another hour.”

He’s a tall man. Broad-shouldered. His wheat colored hair is close cropped for the most part, save for the braided ponytail behind his head. A beard hugs his jawline and chin, but doesn’t allow him a moustache like some of the other men in the group. ‘Grizzled’, is what she’s heard barmaids call him.

“I had that dream again, about the war,” Byleth replies. “But this time that girl appeared. The one who I only caught glimpses of before. She spoke to me this time.”

“Did she now?” He folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not one to decipher dreams; was never into that kinda stuff. So I don’t know what to tell you. But to dream consistently about a war that large… well, one like that hasn’t happened in hundreds of years.”

He considers a thought for a moment, glancing down at his boots. Then he looks at her again. “Anyway, now that you’re up, we might as well get an early start. Our next assignment is in the Kingdom. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, so put your things togeth—”

“Jeralt!” One of the men bursts through the door. His eyes are wide as he speaks. “We have a situation.”

“What kind of situation? Too damn early for a situation.”

“As we were preparing the horses, a trio of kids rushed to us. They said something about being chased by bandits—that they’re headed this way. They requested our aid.”

He gives a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding…. Alright, let’s see what we can do. It’d be bad if those bandits wreaked havoc here.” He nods to Byleth. “You better come along too. Get some exercise in to wake you up.”

“Of course, Father.”

She and a small group of the men follow Jeralt out to the edge of Remire Village. It’s a small, hospitable place. Decent food. The best tomato soup she’s ever eaten. She isn’t one to be sentimental, but a village offering such a warm broth deserves to be protected.

One of the mercs is standing by with the aforementioned trio. They’re young—teenagers if she’d have to guess—although the age on their faces mirrors her own. She doesn’t know how old she’s supposed to be; she never cared about celebrating her own birthday. There’s no time, and no money, save for Jeralt treating her to a nice meal whenever they’d be close enough to a town. Celebrating her birthday is a luxury she doesn’t mind missing out on.

Jeralt looks at the three youths. “So you’ve gotten yourselves into some trouble, I’ve heard.”

“Many apologies,” the first one says. He’s blond, short hair, with eyes as blue as the sky on a sunny winter morning. His light complexion is flushed, maybe because of all the running. He gives a quick bow, and then says, “but we would not be requesting aid if the situation wasn’t urgent. We were attacked out of nowhere a few ways back, and we got separated from our camp.”

“They’re adamant about chasing us down,” the second says. Her long straight hair is silver like the moon, and eyes an icy lavender. She’s rather pale, but Byleth can’t tell if it’s because of what’s going on, or that’s just how she is. “No matter how far we run, they won’t give up the chase. Most likely they wanted our gold, but the look on their faces suggest it wouldn’t matter if we gave it to them or not.”

“Don’t mean to be rude,” the last youth says. His vibrant green eyes contrast nicely with the warm brown tone of his skin. Short, slightly curly dark brown hair is styled up. A small braid hangs from the right side of his face, “but time is sort of a factor. We’re not helpless; more like we just need a few extra hands for dealing with them. Introductions and all that good stuff can come later when we’re _not_ in danger, yeah?”

“Good point.” Jeralt eyes the weapons in their hands. A lance, axe, and bow respectively. “Let’s not press our luck. You three stay at the rear. I’ll handle things from the front.” With two fingers, he gestures for a couple of his men to follow him. One of them guides Jeralt’s horse to him.

In a single motion, he hoists himself onto the saddle and takes the reins. “Let’s deal with them before they reach the village.”

With hurried steps, their small party weaves through the forest bordering the village. In the distance is a watchtower where the bandits are currently heading toward them. Jeralt instructs two of his men to handle the ones holed up in the structure.

“The rest of us will take care of the situation on the ground.” He steers his horse up next to Byleth. “Keep an eye on these kids. Make sure they don’t get killed, at least.”

She only nods, and then he rides on ahead, axe in hand. Byleth turns to the three youths who are looking at her expectantly. “Stay near me.”

“We’re capable,” Silver Girl says.

“Not saying that you aren’t. Just listen to my instructions, and you’ll all live.”

“You sound confident in your ability to keep us safe.” Her tone is light, yet not teasing.

“I am. And I will.” Byleth unsheathes her sword from its scabbard. “So long as you listen to me.”

“Then please,” Blond Boy says, holding the lance firm in his hand, “lead us into the fray.”

“No objections here,” Braid Boy adds, twirling an arrow between his fingers. “We’ll cover you.”

She only gives another nod before they follow Jeralt into the fight.

It actually doesn’t take all that long to dispose of the ruffians. From the left Jeralt strikes them down, and to the right, Byleth and the trio of youths take care of the bandits trying to hide among the trees. They weren’t kidding when they said they were capable.

Blond Boy wields his lance like an extension of himself. He doesn’t make a misstep when slashing with the blade end or while punting with the brunt side. He’s not quick enough to cover his blind spot, but Braid Boy disarms the bandits with an arrow to their shoulders each. He never loses focus, and the time it takes for him to remove the arrows from their quiver to the impact of arrowhead meeting flesh is too fast for her to follow.

Silver Girl doesn’t need anything more than her axe. She spills the most blood trying to fend off her share of the foes. Byleth slashes one down for her before going off and slicing a few more that come her way. Silver Girl spots another running toward her and she tosses her axe, effectively lodging itself in the man’s chest.

That’s the first mistake.

“You damn brats!” The burliest of the bandits (which Byleth assumes is the leader) charges toward Silver Girl, flailing an axe in his hand. “I’ll kill you!” Her eyes widen as she takes a dagger out of her blouse, getting into a defensive stance.

Byleth was given a task to keep them safe, to not get them killed. Silver Girl won’t be able to parry a blow like that with such a short weapon of someone his size. Yet Byleth can’t move fast enough to slice him down in time.

She does all she can do, and throws herself in between them.

The axe cleaves into her back and she gasps at the pain that shoots down her core.

Then, everything stills.

“Just _what_ do you think you are doing?!”

She finds herself in the void again with the throne and the mystery girl. She doesn’t know how she got here. She’s not asleep, so maybe she’s already dead. That would suck if true.

“How reckless of you!” the girl scolds, shooting up from her seat. “You may not care about your body, but I do! How dare you endanger me like this!”

Endanger her? What is she talking about? _She’s_ the one with the axe making its home in her spine. This girl only exists in her dreams. Or, that’s where Byleth thought she did.

With a heavy sigh, her mental companion slumps back onto the throne. She lays her cheek on her fist. “Oh well, I suppose it cannot be helped. You have gotten us into quite the predicament.”

_I’m sorry._

“Apologies will not solve the problem.”

_…Why did everything freeze?_

“I stopped time.”

_You can stop time?_

“Yes…?” she says, more to herself than Byleth. “I… can. Although I do not know why. It was a reflex, I suppose.”

_What will happen when you undo it?_

She hums. Her fist flattens and her cheek now rests on her palm. “When time resumes, that axe will continue to tear into your flesh, and you will die. _We_ will die.” She frowns, her brow furrowing in discontent. “Humans do not know the value of life. It truly is such a sad thing to witness. You are so young, too.”

_Isn’t there anything you can do?_

“And what would you propose?”

_I… don’t know. Can you… just go back?_

“Go back?”

_Yeah, like rewind time. You were able to stop it, so you might be able to rewind it._

Her eyes light up. She jumps up from her seat, clapping her hands together. “That is it! Of course! I can rewind time. You will know what is to come so you can better prepare to avoid the scenario on the second attempt.”

She holds out her hand and an arcane wheel of light materializes in front of her. The rings spin idly around the central symbol. “I do not think I can rewind time too far, but I will rewind it to mere minutes before it happens.”

_Thank you. For someone so young—_

“Young? The nerve. I am several lifetimes older than you. Do you think of me as a mere _child?_ What would that make you then if you need to rely on a child for help?”

Byleth winces. _I’m… less than a child?_

Frustration disappears from her face and is replaced with a smirk. “A child I need to look after, it seems.”

_Thank you again._

“Do not mention it. I did deem you worthy of saving, after—oh! I have remembered it!”

_Remembered what?_

“My name! Sothis. Yes, yes my name is Sothis. Of this I am most positive. It has just come to me.” She smiles wide. “But I am also known as, The Beginning.”

_Beginning?_

“Yes, that is what I am called, but I do not know why. My memories are… cloudy. Perhaps I will remember more in due time. I must remain optimistic. Now then, go on. You have mistakes to fix.”

The rings of the arcane wheel stop abruptly and then accelerate, spinning in the opposite direction.

“Time will now resume.”

Byleth opens her eyes to find herself standing a few feet away from Silver Girl. She dashes toward her just as the bandit leader notices she has no weapons to defend herself. Byleth jumps in front of her and takes a fighting stance, sword at the ready. Before the man can even swing his arm down, she rushes forward and knocks him off his feet. His axe falls to the wayside and he tumbles backward.

Silver Girl looks at her in awe. Byleth huffs, shifting her grip on the sword hilt. “You alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Hey! Over here!”

They turn to the voices behind them. Blond and Braid Boy approach them, out of breath. The lance is dirty and the quiver is missing several arrows so they must’ve dealt with the remaining bandits on their own. Before she can even check if they’re okay, Jeralt comes over to them, his horse giving a grunt as she's reined to a halt.

“You kids in one piece?” he asks.

“We are,” Blond Boy replies. “Thank you so much for your assistance. Both you and your daughter. I don’t know what we would’ve done had you not been nearby. We will of course compensate you for—”

“Nah, that’s not necessary. It was an emergency, so consider this a freebie.” He studies them, stroking his chin. “Those uniforms… they look familiar….”

She’s never seen them before, but she figures they must come from some kind of wealth. Their clothes are black with gold trim in the flourishes. While sharing the same kind of outfit, the only similar things about their robes is the color and that they all have boots. Everything else appears to be up to personal taste, if Byleth has to guess.

Silver Girl has a red cape. Her uniform includes some kind of cravat, shorts, and red leggings. Blond Boy’s uniform is the most ‘traditional’ (she guesses anyway) with no personal customization aside from his blue cape and small pieces of armor around his hands, shoulders, and boots. Instead of gold trimmings, his are silver. Braid Boy’s coat is much longer with a visible yellow undershirt beneath. A yellow cape is clipped to his coat over his left shoulder. The uniform slacks also flare out more than those of his blond counterpart’s.

_They certainly do look well-groomed, don’t they?_

Byleth jumps and looks around. Sothis gives a huff.

_Oh come now. You must have figured out I can speak to you whenever I wish. It does not matter if you are awake or asleep._

_I was just… startled. I didn’t know._

_Well, now you do. Hmm, but really, I do wonder where they are from. Not only do their clothes hint at a sense of a more fortunate upbringing, but they are also decently skilled in their weapons of choice._

“Oh no.” Jeralt’s voice brings her attention to him. He’s looking out toward a group of knights approaching them. One wears heavier armor and a white flowing cape. With a heavy sigh, her father continues, “I knew I recognized those uniforms from somewhere. Just my luck.”

The leader of the group of knights stops short when he sees Jeralt. “Are my eyes deceiving me? Captain Jeralt, is that you? It is!” He grins wide and steps closer. “Do you remember me? It’s me, Alois! Your right-hand man! Or… at least I considered myself your right hand back then.”

“Hey, Alois.” Jeralt strains a smile, though Alois’ grin tells her the other man doesn’t notice or even seem to care. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”

But why did he call him ‘captain’?

“Too long! I haven’t seen you in… oh I don’t know, maybe 20 years? How’ve you been?”

“Eh, you know. Still alive and kicking. Anyway,” he looks to the trio of youths, then back to Alois, “we better get going. My mercenaries and I have a job to do elsewhere. You take care of yourself, Alois.”

“Oh, yes of course! Good bye. It was nice seeing—,” he blinks and shakes his head, “wait, no, that’s not how this ends!” He stands straighter and looks Jeralt in the eye. “We all thought you had disappeared forever! You must come back with us to the monastery. Rejoin the Knights of Seiros! You won’t have to worry about going from town to town for a living ever again. I’m positive Lady Rhea won’t have any objections!”

Her father gives another long, hard sigh. He’s been doing that a lot today. “Even I’m not dumb enough to try and run away from the Knights of Seiros.” He looks to his men, and then to Byleth. “Guess we’re gonna have a change of occupation. You stay here with these kids while I go get the rest of our guys from the village.”

Looking to her, Alois smiles. He’s a man on the larger side with a beard and mustache the color of chestnuts. There are a few wrinkles at the edges of his eyes. With how wide he’s smiling, she figures it must be his default expression.

“Would you happen to be Jeralt’s child?” he asks.

She nods. “I’m Byleth, his daughter. I’m also a mercenary.”

“Really now? You don’t look much like him.” He gives a single laugh. “But the way you carry yourself and get to the point sure has ‘Jeralt’ written all over it.”

“Trust me, she’s mine,” Jeralt cuts in. “She just happened to take after her mother more in looks.”

Quietly she watches as they exchange more words and Jeralt instructs his men to notify the rest of the mercenaries to meet them in the forest clearing. Alois puts his hands on his hips as he speaks to Jeralt, face expressive and voice loud. Some of the knights ask the trio of youths if they’re alright to which they reply that they’re just fine.

They’re addressed as ‘my lady’ and ‘my lords’.

_These three youths are definitely important. No wonder._

_Nobles, maybe. Although it’s weird they know how to fight. Most of the nobles we’ve worked for don’t do much of anything._

Whatever Sothis says next, she doesn’t hear it. Her attention is drawn to the trio as they approach her. They’re looking at her with curious gazes, grateful smiles on their faces.

“Thank you again for helping us,” says Silver Girl. “So, you are Jeralt’s daughter? Byleth, was it?”

She only nods.

Blond Boy bows. “Then thank you so very much, Miss Byleth. We are in your debt.”

“That’s not necessary. My father said it’s a freebie, so you don’t owe us anything.”

“Oh but you’ll get rewarded anyway, I’m sure,” Braid Boy says. “Would be bad publicity if Garreg Mach lost three little lordlings in the same night.”

“What’s Garreg Mach?”

“You’re kidding,” Silver Girl starts, her eyes wide. “You don’t know what Garreg Mach is?”

“Should I?”

Braid Boy gives a laugh, looking genuinely amused. Blond Boy clears his throat and says, “Do you know of the Church of Seiros? The Knights of Seiros?”

“Never heard of them.”

Now the last of the ‘lordlings’ considers her. He tilts his head, eyes focused on her face. “Never heard of the church, or the knights. And you say you’re a mercenary, but you look around our age.”

“How can you have traveled the land and yet have never heard of Garreg Mach?” Silver Girl asks. “It’s almost impossible to not know about the church in Fódlan.”

Byleth just shrugs. There's only one thing she cares to know about right now. “Why did you call my father, ‘captain’?”

“You don’t know that either? He’s never said anything? The man has quite a reputation for being the strongest knight the church has ever had. Almost legendary. He’s known as the Blade Breaker.”

“He’s always been just ‘Father’ to me.”

The trio look at each other in silent conversation. They turn their attention to her again, and Silver Girl starts, “Do you know of the Adrestian Empire, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Leicester Alliance?”

“We’ve had jobs in all three nations before. Our next assignment was going to be in the Kingdom, actually.”

“You know that much. I see; that’s a start. Then allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the throne of the Empire.”

“I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince of the Kingdom. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Byleth.”

“And I’m Claude von Riegan, next in line to the ruling house of the Alliance. But don’t worry too much about all that madness.”

_So, they are fortunate indeed. What luck. The three heirs of this land, indebted to you for saving their lives._

She isn’t sure what to say. Byleth has always thought nobles and royalty were much the same. Top of the social class who had other people do work for them. Or that’s been her experience so far. There’s always room for a revised opinion, in her… well, opinion.

“Okay,” is all she says.

Claude laughs under his breath, and Dimitri’s fingers fidget at his sides. Edelgard is still like stone, her eyes never leaving Byleth’s.

“You aren’t much for words, are you?” Claude asks.

“I only speak if spoken to,” she replies plainly.

Edelgard continues to stare, then smiles. “Your skill with the blade is very impressive for someone your age; I have a feeling you will only continue to grow more powerful with time. You would be an invaluable asset to the Empire. As thanks, I can arrange for a position in our—”

“Halt, Edelgard,” Dimitri cuts in. “I was just about to ask her the same thing. Miss Byleth, though you say you don’t need a reward, I still would like to repay you somehow. Might you want to return to the Kingdom with me? To become one of our knights? I promise that I will make sure you and your father will never want for anything.”

“Woah there.” Claude shakes his finger at the other two. “A little overzealous are we, your Highnesses? I, on the other hand, had wanted to develop a friendship with our new acquaintance _before_ begging for favors. It’s only polite. For shame.”

Dimitri actually blushes and utters a meek ‘sorry’. Edelgard casts Claude a side-eyed glance.

“Anyway,” Claude continues, “you look confused. Or I think you are. To be honest, I don’t believe it’s smart to recruit strangers met in the middle of the night in a dark forest. But just out of curiosity, which country has piqued your interest?”

Byleth studies them. Edelgard is calm and collected, looking neither upset nor unimpressed with the way the conversation is going. Dimitri stands to attention, the remnants of his blush fading from his face. Claude has a fist on his hip, leaning his weight to one side.

_One’s home of origin seems to be important to them. Which one sounds the most interesting to you, Byleth?_

_I don’t know them. I don’t know anything about their lands. I don’t know anything about…_

_Anything?_

_Yes._

_That is most strange. You are not an imbecile; of that I am positive. But your lack of knowledge about the history and people of Fódlan is cause for concern. Just be honest then, I suppose._

“None,” she replies.

They lean forward ever so slightly as if to urge her into explaining. But she has nothing more to say. What _is_ there to say? All she knows is the name of the lands, and now, the heirs to their futures. Royalty they may be, but that’s all she has to go on.

The trio of lords look to each other again, engaging in a mental communication she’ll probably never understand. Before any of them can ask her more questions, Alois calls for them to head back to the knight’s camp. Byleth doesn’t follow, but instead heads in the direction where Jeralt had gone.

She finds him at the edge of Remire Village, like he was an hour ago. The mercenaries are all outside the inn, the horses loaded with their belongings. Jeralt pats the back of his steed, and Byleth hops on.

“It’s about a few hours to Garreg Mach from here,” he says. “Alois thinks it’s best we leave now just in case bandits try to attack them again. We should arrive there by the time the sun rises.”

Byleth only nods before wrapping her arms around his middle for support. He gives a gentle snap of the reins and the horse leads the others into the forest where the knights are waiting for them.

Their encampment is in a clearing. Jeralt’s men help them pack up the tents and other belongings before they all make the trip toward the Oghma Mountains where the monastery is situated. After a while, Byleth gets tired of riding on the horse. She hops off to stretch her legs and arms, cracking her neck. The mountains are growing larger, so she might as well walk the rest of the way. Dawn has nearly embraced the sky with the gentle sun sluggishly sprouting from the horizon.

Idly she watches Jeralt chatting with the knights up ahead. She’s at the rear of the party, not being one for conversation. Besides, this way she can observe their surroundings to keep an eye out for any potential dangers. Daylight doesn’t guarantee safety, after all.

“You excited?”

Up strides Claude to her right, a smile on his face. “To see Garreg Mach, I mean.”

“I don’t know what that feels like,” she replies. “But it’ll be nice to learn about another location.”

He pauses. “You don’t know what excitement feels like?”

She shakes her head. “Is it important that I do?”

“Guess not. Huh.”

“If you’d like,” says Dimitri, matching their pace, “I can give you a tour of the monastery. It’s rather large and easy to get lost in.”

“Only if you don’t know your way around,” Edelgard adds, appearing to her left. “_Do _you know your way around, Dimitri?”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be offering Miss Byleth a tour if I didn’t.”

“You might like the place,” Claude says in a louder tone once Dimitri and Edelgard begin their inklings of bickering again. “People from all over Fódlan go there, either for pilgrimage or, more importantly, to study in the Officers Academy.”

“What’s that?”

“The Officers Academy is where one trains to become a knight in a preferred weapon of choice,” Edelgard informs. “That’s where the three of us are currently enrolled. The new school year begins in a few days. We’re still settling in.”

“Will you be joining us at the academy, Miss Byleth?” Dimitri asks with a smile. “I’m sure they’ll let you in without trouble. It seems like your father will be appointed as a knight now, perhaps of high rank considering his reputation. They’ll most likely find accommodation for you as well.”

She looks to the ground. Hoof prints dot the dirt road. “Mercenary work is all I know.”

“Ah, I see. It… may take a while, but I don’t mind helping you adjust to student life. I’m not knowledgeable in all subjects, but I’ll help where I can.”

“That’s very kind. Thank you.”

He only smiles before glancing away, looking slightly embarrassed for some reason. Claude smirks when Dimitri notices his stare. He looks ahead, cheeks pink.

“It’s an interesting place for sure,” Claude adds. “Like all of Fódlan condensed into one campus, the good and the bad.”

“Like it or not,” Edelgard says, keeping her focus straight ahead, “we’ll be there soon enough.”

She doesn’t make any further comments. When they reach the end of the forest, they’re standing on a grassy hill with a few boulders. In the near distance is the Oghma Mountains. Atop it is a massive walled complex situated on the various tiers of earth.

Edelgard climbs up a rock jutting out of the ground. “There it is, Garreg Mach Monastery.”

Dimitri and Claude join her as the three gaze out at the imposing structure. Standing there, watching them as the spring breeze flutters their capes, she can see why they’re the inheritors of the continent. Maybe it’s their stance, but there’s an air about them that sparks her curiosity. A feeling that she’s never had much use for.

_What do you think of them?_

_I can’t say for sure. They’re young, but, the way they speak, the way they handle themselves in combat… _

_They do have a hint of authority to them, don’t they? Even being so green behind the ears._

_Yes. Edelgard seems very self-assured, but I feel like she’s always analyzing me whenever we speak. Dimitri is kind and polite, but… his gaze makes me wonder if something darker is lurking beneath. Claude has the most welcoming attitude and a striking smile, but that smile doesn’t reach his eyes. _

_Maybe this change will provide you with a better assessment of their characters over time. I too am… _she yawns_, curious as to… oh, goodness. I do not know why I am so… mm, a nap… for a little while…._

Byleth finds herself walking forward when the three lords turn back to look at her. The morning sun is now floating in the sky, casting warmth on their smiling faces. She follows them down the hill and upwards toward the cobblestone path of the monastery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please accept my (first) story for Three Houses. I didn't expect to fall in love with this game and the characters as much as I have. I'm still not through all routes, but I'm close. I know, I know, there's already a few novelization fics of 3H out there. But I hope you'll like my take anyway! ;v;
> 
> Claude is super precious, so of course I had to write this. I love him _deerly_.
> 
> That was awful, I'm sorry.
> 
> But hopefully this story won't be. Usually I have an outline for my long fics but this time I don't. Just gonna wing it and see what happens. College kicks my ass every semester so I won't be able to update until weekends, and I usually like to at least be five chapters ahead in my drafts. (I have up to chapter 6 written right now.) When both conditions are met, I'll update!
> 
> Gratuitous use of Sothis because I love her and the dynamic she has with Byleth. Also, I'm not gonna quote verbatim from the game dialogue because it's a lot and I'm too lazy to go back and check the logs for everything. But I'll paraphrase from memory or reference for lines I feel are important. I also don't wanna keep putting disclaimers that I don't own the dialogue and stuff. So here it is: anything I direct quote, I don't own! None of these characters or their universe are mine either! I only own my interpretation of said topics! Don't come after me Nintendo and IntSys!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy my spin on the Verdant Wind path. With some elements mixed in from the other routes. ...So it's more like I'm gonna... try to combine... all routes... Somehow.
> 
> Because I don't want to be redundant when replying to people: thanks for reading and/or leaving a comment! It means a lot to me!
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> **Note:** in this work, chunky spaces between paragraphs is (usually) a POV shift within the same scene; a decorative line break is a scene change.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> A trio of teenagers ask Jeralt and his mercenaries for help in defeating a group of bandits. Byleth nearly dies saving one of the youths and only survives due to Sothis' ability to manipulate time. After successfully saving the teens, Byleth learns they're actually the heirs to the future of Fódlan: Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude. To Jeralt's dismay, he reunites with an old friend named Alois who convinces him to return to Garreg Mach Monastery after two decades. Byleth follows her father into this new chapter of their lives, wondering what kind of events it'll bring.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ II ⧽  
  
White Clouds

It’s about a 30 minute walk to reach the first gate of the monastery. Byleth has no complaints. The morning air is fresh, sunbeams warm, and the blue sky adorns itself with large bulbous clouds in the distance. One looks like a fat sheep.

There’s a town at the foot of the mountain, but they don’t bother to stop there. Not all the walled areas of the monastery are filled with buildings. The ones closest to the bottom have different plots of crops and livestock, perhaps to sustain the population within Garreg Mach.

A bustling marketplace greets them when they finally step foot onto the primary complex. Alois explains that since they’re at the top of a mountain, it’s not always time efficient to travel down to the town. Having the marketplace brought to them instead is ideal.

“Sir Alois!” A soldier standing guard at the main entrance salutes the man. “Good morning!”

“Yes, good morning, ah…,” he pauses, studying the young man’s face. It’s partially obscured by the shade cast from his helmet, “and… a fine morning it is!”

“For sure. I love those fluffy clouds!” The soldier smiles at the trio of nobles. “Lady Edelgard, Prince Dimitri, Lord Claude, hello and good morning! I hope your exercise training went well!” He bows, then looks to Jeralt and his men. “Oh, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, sir, and I have a good memory of faces! Are you visiting the monastery? If so, welcome!”

“They’re going to be joining us here at Garreg Mach for the foreseeable future,” Alois replies. “Sorry we can’t stay to chat,” probably because he can’t remember the soldier’s name and he’s too embarrassed to admit it, “but I have to request an audience with Lady Rhea.”

“Oh, of course. I understand; don’t mind me! I’ll be here all day if you wanna chat! Uh, doing… my job… of course! Watching out for suspicious individuals and not slacking off! Nope!” With another smile, he looks to Jeralt. “I can have your horse taken to the stables if you want. It’s just over there up the staircase to the left. Ah, my left.”

“No need. I can take her there myself.”

“Don’t be silly, Captain!” Alois says with a grin. “I’ll have my men find a place for her. Meanwhile, you and Byleth can follow me to meet with Lady Rhea.”

He sighs, and jumps off his horse. Jeralt hands over the reins to one of the knights but not before he strokes the steed on her neck. “Alright, then let’s go.”

Alois nods. Turning to the trio of lordlings, he suggests, “You should return to your dorms for some rest. You’ve been through a lot in the past several hours. And don’t forget to stop by the infirmary just in case.”

“I think that’s best,” agrees Dimitri. “I have to check in with the others and see how they’re doing. Dedue will be worried if I’m gone for too long. I might as well also tell him of what transpired before he hears it from anyone else.”

Claude stretches his arms above his head. “All that hiking made me hungry. Think I’ll plop myself into the dining hall for breakfast. See if Hilda is even awake yet. Knowing her, she probably isn’t. And you, Princess?”

“I need to speak with Hubert,” replies Edelgard. “He’s expecting my return in the courtyard.”

“Well it sounds like you kids have your days figured out!” Alois pats Jeralt on the shoulder. “Let’s get going too, Captain! Lots to do now that we’re here!”

The lordlings say their goodbyes before heading off in the opposite direction. Byleth can see a large pond in the distance, and some kind of greenhouse. The mercenaries are led away to the stables meanwhile she and Jeralt are escorted into the grand entrance of Garreg Mach.

“Hope you enjoy your time here,” the soldier says, not moving from his spot as the group walks inside. “And welcome again to Garreg Mach Monastery!”

“Thank you,” she replies. “What’s your name?”

His cheerful expression falls into one of mild surprise. “Uh, my name?”

“Yes. So I know how to greet you in the future.”

The grin on his face hints that maybe he doesn’t get asked that question too often. “I’m Anthony! But you can call me… oh, well, I guess just Anthony. I don’t have a nickname.”

“Anthony. I’ll remember it.”

“Aww, it’s okay. You don’t have—”

“No, I will. Anthony. Good bye for now.”

He beams at her and gives a nod.

Walking into the grand entrance, she looks up at the tall ceiling. She’s never seen structures this big before, or at least, has never been inside of one. There are two massive statues standing proud on either side of the wide stairway. A wall fountain flows beneath each one. Footsteps echo as she and her company pass through, reaching the massive metal doors at the end that lead to a courtyard.

“Rhea’s here,” Jeralt notes in a low voice.

Byleth follows his line of sight up to the third floor of the nearest building. A woman dressed in white robes with gold and deep blue accents watches them from the balcony. The golden headdress she wears almost looks like a halo glistening in the sunlight. Her long, mint green hair cascades down her back. A lily rests on either side of her head, as if they had grown there naturally.

After a moment, the woman turns away, disappearing back inside.

Going into the central building, Alois makes small talk with Jeralt, pointing to different objects attached to some memory. It’s when they reach the second floor that he asks for them to wait outside a room. “Just need to let Her Grace know about the situation before I bring you two in. Won’t be long.”

“No rush,” replies her father, and she knows he means it.

With Alois gone, Jeralt leans against the nearest wall, arms crossed over his chest. He huffs. “The one time I take a risk of accepting a job near Garreg Mach, is the one time I’m shit outta luck. Considering the kids we saved are the future of Fódlan…”

“Does this mean we won’t be mercenaries anymore?”

“Probably not. Most likely our guys will be assimilated into the knights, or the manual labor. I can’t tell, honestly. As for me… I have a feeling I know.”

She wants to ask where does that leave her. Byleth wouldn’t mind looking after the horses. Or cleaning up after people around the monastery. She’s never liked to sit still since the moment she first held a sword. Maybe she can learn how to forge weapons.

_Do they teach that here? _Sothis asks with a yawn._ This place is a religious academy._

_I don’t know. But if the students are studying to be knights, there has to be some kind of forge around._

_Your father has been here before, apparently. Ask him if there is one._

She doesn’t get the chance. Alois peeks his head out of the door and motions with his hand for them to come inside. “I can’t stay,” he informs, “but I’ve already told the archbishop about your heroic exploits! She looked so happy too.”

“I’m sure she is,” is all Jeralt says before walking into the audience chamber. Byleth follows him, giving a wave to Alois as he says his good byes.

Rhea is at the back of the room, standing on a dais. A tall stained glass window filters in the sunlight behind her. She gives them a gentle smile as they approach. Folding her hands in front of her, she takes graceful steps down to meet them.

“Jeralt,” her voice is soft, soothing, like a compassionate mother, “it’s been too long. It’s a pleasure to see you again. How have you been all these years?”

“Lady Rhea, hello.” He doesn’t bow. “Well, you know how it is. Mercenary work takes you all over.”

“So it does.” She glances at Byleth, and her smile grows the slightest bit wider. “I see you have been blessed with fatherhood. How wonderful. You and your wife must be very proud.”

Jeralt pauses, staring at the woman. “We lost her to illness a long time ago,” he says quietly.

“Oh, forgive me. My condolences.” The frown only lasts on her face for a second. “What is your name, young one?”

“Byleth.”

Rhea nods. “A lovely name. I want to welcome you to Garreg Mach. Here, we are like family. Both the students and the faculty. We take great care of each other, so I hope you will feel that warmth in due time now that you will be living here.”

“We will?”

“But of course. It is the least I can do as thanks for saving our three inheritors to the land. Should anything have happened to them, why, I cannot imagine the chaos that would have ensued all across Fódlan as a result.”

Jeralt opens his mouth but doesn’t get a word in before another person joins them in the chamber. He’s about as tall as her father and even has an intimidating face to match. A golden circlet recedes into his green hair, locks long enough to cover his ears. A short beard frames his jawline (no mustache; maybe a trend). His robes are a deep blue with gold and white accents, much different from the uniforms of the students and the knights.

_He is perhaps a clergyman of higher ranking. His manner of clothing is as opulent as this woman’s._

“Seteth, thank you for joining us,” Rhea says.

“Apologies for my tardiness, your grace. I only heard just now of our newest guests.” He rests his hands behind his back. “My name is Seteth, advisor to Archbishop Rhea. I handle the day to day tasks she is too busy for, as well as oversee the Knights of Seiros and the Officers Academy. You are Jeralt Eisner, correct?”

“That’s me.”

“I overheard Alois in the hallway loudly proclaiming the ‘Blade Breaker’ has returned.” Seteth then looks to Byleth. “Although, I was unaware the famed knight had a child. Known as the ‘Ashen Demon’ from what I have been able to uncover.”

“You were able to learn all of that in just a short time?” Jeralt says aloud.

“It is my duty to be aware of all who enter this place. Much like you, your daughter has gained a reputation. The ‘Ashen Demon’. A woman who strikes down all her foes without even the slightest hint of emotion on her face. Looking at her now, I can see that part at least, is true. The demon bit, well, only time will tell.”

“She feels things,” replies Jeralt in a firm tone. “Just doesn’t see the need to express them.”

“We all experience emotion in different ways, Seteth,” Rhea agrees. “And having two capable combatants under our roof can only be beneficial to all.”

“Yes, of course, your grace.”

“Now then,” she steps closer, “let us get to the breadth of our meeting. Alois has recommended we make you captain of the Knights of Seiros again, Jeralt. I cannot say I disagree.” Jeralt doesn’t reply, so Rhea continues, “As for your daughter, I have begun arrangements for her as well. You see, we lost a new professor in that skirmish with the bandits. He fled, and so we could not finish assessing his potential to teach here. Cowardice overcame him.”

Rhea shakes her head, frowning. “He will never work here in the foreseeable future, but now that has left us with the issue of not having enough instructors. On such short notice, we cannot possibly interview any new applicants in time.”

“So,” Jeralt starts, “what you’re saying is that you want my kid—a former mercenary—to be a classroom teacher?”

“Precisely.” She holds up a hand when he tries to protest. “I understand this is unorthodox, but rest assured she will get caught up with the curriculum in the few days before the academic year officially begins. All classes learn the same subjects, but we do give ample room for each professor to personalize their lesson plans within the curriculum.”

“Lady Rhea,” Seteth looks to her, plastered with an expression of disbelief, “are you certain about this? While Jeralt is more than capable in his new station, his daughter is within the same age bracket as our students; she is a mere child.”

“I have faith in her.” Rhea smiles warmly at Byleth. “She did not garner a fearsome reputation solely on luck. Is that not correct, Jeralt?”

“I’ve trained Byleth well in the sword and other weapons from a young age,” he replies. “She’s a fast learner.”

A part of her feels like a ‘but’ is there, someplace.

“Excellent. Her study materials shall be sent to her new quarters so she may begin teaching herself immediately. Jeralt, I will have your room as well as your personal office ready by the afternoon. Seteth,” she turns to the man beside her, “might you escort Byleth to her new quarters? It is the last room on the first floor of the student dorms. The one nearest the training grounds. I would like to speak to Jeralt privately for a few moments.”

“Yes, of course. But might I reconvene with you afterward? There are… matters I wish to discuss.”

“That is fine; I figured you would.”

Jeralt gives Byleth a look. “I’ll see you in a bit, kid.”

She only gives a nod before following Seteth out of the audience chamber.

  


⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢

  


Students look at them curiously as they walk through the complex. Along the way, Seteth points to where everything is, and notes that should she ever get lost, to just ask a knight or other resident roaming about. They’ll direct her to where she needs to be.

“This is where you will be living during your time here,” he says, as if she’s not going to stay permanently. A key ring is fished from his pocket. “This was to be another student room, but they canceled two weeks ago. It has not been opened since, so you will need to dust it. The bedding is clean, although I recommend airing that out as well.”

As he unlocks the door, Byleth notices a corkboard on the outside of her room. There’s a perch next to it. “What’s this?”

“A notice board. There are many throughout the monastery; this one is for the first floor of the outer dormitories. Sometimes people will post tasks they would like help with. You can always earn a reward for assisting them. The more you help, the more you will be renowned as someone reliable.”

“But why is there a perch?”

“We have messenger owls. Each request is rolled up and tied with a string with a loop at the end. The owls are trained to hang them from the hooks there.”

She’s heard of different kinds of birds being used for messages across dukedoms and such, but she didn’t think they’d also use them here. Don’t they get tired? Maybe she should carry snacks in her pockets to reward them.

“I know what you are thinking,” Seteth says. “Do not feed the owls, Miss Byleth.”

Sothis chuckles at the back of her mind.

Seteth pushes the door open. It’s dark until he draws the curtains open from the windows. Underneath them against the wall is a long furniture piece of cabinets, most likely where she’ll be keeping… teaching tools? She doesn’t have anything to store here. The dresser to the side of the room probably won’t be filling up much either.

There’s a writing desk and chair next to the dresser. A plain bed is on the opposite side against the wall. A small cabinet rests near the door and has a smaller wooden box with drawers on top of it. The only other thing in the room is a gray rug with a simple continuous design. It spans most of the wooden floor.

“Unfortunately, we do not have a spare office for you in the faculty building,” Seteth informs, “so your quarters will also be your office. Professors are expected to have hours available outside of class to tutor students or to simply assist them with whatever they need. During these times, you are to keep your door open, no exceptions.”

“Even if it’s supposed to be my room?”

“_Especially_ because it is your room.”

There’s a story there, for sure. But he already looks irritated enough having to explain the ins and outs of the monastery. “Okay. Thank you, Seteth.”

“Lady Rhea is constantly busy,” he says without missing a beat, “so if you have complaints or concerns, you may direct them to me. But I have my own share of duties, so I cannot be here to… _guide_ you whenever you please. Is that clear?”

She nods. “Good. Here is your room key; do not lose it.” He places it on her desk. “Your teaching materials will arrive in a short while. For now, dust out your quarters. Should you wish to see your father, he is on the second floor of the faculty building. If not, then you will find him if you ask around. The whole complex is abuzz with his return, after all.”

He says no more and walks away.

Byleth leans over the long cabinet and opens one of the window panels. She climbs on top of the furniture piece to look out at the scenery. The dorms are only two continuous floors, but the entire building itself snakes through the tiers of the mountainside. It has no real form to it, merely adjusting to the landscape instead of trying to overcome it. A few enclosed bridges connect the sides for faster access, most likely.

_From the length of this building, there must be a staggering number of students attending. Look at how far down the mountainside it goes. Someone did not think through the architectural efficiency of this place._

_Maybe, like, 300 students come here. Or some number around there._

_I do hope you will not have to teach so many, especially with someone of your limited experience._

_I have no experience in general._

_All the more to pray for instructing the smallest class possible._

She hums in reply and then gets to work dusting out her new room. There aren’t any bugs in her bed, or moths in the wardrobe. The cabinets are all empty as well. Her desk is the only thing that’s stocked, and even then it’s minimal. A small stack of blank parchment, and a set of a quill pen and inkwell. One lone book is nudged in the corner.

“‘_Officers Academy Handbook for Students_’,” she reads, examining the spine. It’s rather slim, so she should be able to get through it quickly. Hopefully. Jeralt taught her how to read and write, but there weren’t many opportunities to practice extensively. Carrying a sack of books around just isn’t smart for a mercenary company.

Time passes as she sits at her chair, flipping through the pages. There are chapters on the dress code, student etiquette when in the classroom, facility times and usages, proper conduct, and so on. Some of this doesn’t apply to her, but there’s probably a faculty equivalent she’ll have to read.

A knock on the door frame has her turning toward the sound.

Jeralt leans against it with his forearm. His other arm carries a stack of books. “Seteth told me this is where you’ll be staying.” He walks in, glancing around. “Little smaller than my own place. Here, I was instructed to pass these along to you.” He sets the volumes on the desk. They’re all much bigger than the handbook. “Stuff on the history of Fódlan, magical practices, battle tactics, and the like.”

“Those books are thick,” she points out.

A smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “It’s a lot to absorb in only a few days. But I believe in you. Still…,” his smile falls, “I don’t know what Rhea’s thinking, making you a professor.”

Byleth is quiet for a moment. “I will learn, and fast.”

“Just don’t push yourself, By. Considering how… fond, Rhea is of you already, she’ll probably cut you some slack if you’re not on the same level as the other instructors.”

“I’ll do my best anyway.”

“You always do.” He leans in, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Just… keep your wits about you. Watch out for Rhea.”

She looks up at him, though he’s already heading out the door. “I’ll get us some breakfast from the dining hall. Meanwhile, make a head start on those books. You want anything specific?” She shakes her head. “Alright, I’ll snag whatever’s leftover.”

As soon as he leaves, Byleth takes the first sheet from the stack of papers and dips the quill in the inkwell. Writing things down will help her remember them quicker as she flips through each book. Even when her father returns to share a meal, she doesn’t stop writing.

_My my_, _this is quite a lot to remember_, Sothis says, when Byleth is halfway through the first book, _The History of Fódlan, vol. 1._

_From the author’s notes, it seems that the first volume is a brief summary of all the important events. The proceeding volumes go more in-depth. _

_How many volumes _are _there? I hope you do not have to read them all before classes begin. I will be quite bored, otherwise. Why don’t you explore the complex? You still have not memorized where everything is._

_Maybe later._

Sothis whines, but doesn’t bother to say anything more for a good several hours.

This is how Byleth spends her days before the official start of the new school year. She never leaves her room, telling Jeralt it helps her focus. He brings her breakfast, lunch, and dinner as it’s the only time he’s able to escape his office or the Knight’s Hall. She only leaves if she has to use the latrines. Otherwise, as soon as the morning light is bright enough for her to read, she stays at her desk through the dim candlelight of the late hours.

On Monday the 8th, Jeralt comes by at sunrise to pick her up and meet with Rhea in the audience chamber. He grabs a hardboiled egg and bread roll for them both from the dining hall, and she finishes them by the time they’re in the presence of the archbishop.

“Good morning, Professor,” Rhea greets with that same gentle smile. “I have heard that you have been hard at work in your room for the past several days.”

“I wanted to learn everything in time.”

“And were you able to?”

“Most of it.”

“Wonderful. I do not expect you to know everything, but hearing of your initiative assures me I will have nothing to worry about when it comes to instructing your students. You will memorize all the subject matter in due time.”

Seteth stands still, arms folded behind his back. “We will be holding a meeting between the professors in a few minutes. It would be a good chance for you to become acquainted with your fellow instructors. Ah,” the sound of the door opens, “here are two of them now.”

In walk an older man and a woman. The former is tall and wears a monocle, as well as a long brown coat that nearly reaches his ankles. His gray hair and mustache are neatly combed. The latter looks much younger, though Byleth guesses she’s around 40 or so. Her teal dress is (very) low cut and is slit on both sides to reveal her legs. Slipping off her shoulders is a long, white overcoat. Her makeup matches the honey tone of her fashionable short haircut.

“Oh, are we early?” the woman asks. “I heard we were to meet our newest professor. And my, what a handsome one he is,” she comments, giving Jeralt a once-over.

“Ah, no, it’s not me, ha ha,” he corrects lightly with a practiced smile. “It’s my daughter here.”

The woman’s eyes widen. “Oh my, I thought you were a student! You’re quite young to be a professor.”

“Age and competence are not mutually exclusive,” the elder man says, giving her a side-eyed glance, “as you well know, Manuela.”

Manuela shoots him a look, then smiles at Byleth. “I’m Manuela Cassagranda, one of the head professors here. I’m also a physician, a songstress, and available.” She gives a quick wink to Jeralt, who keeps his forced smile on his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And I’m Hanneman von Essar. Another head professor of the academy. But I’m also a researcher in my spare time; I study Crests. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Professor…?”

“Byleth.”

He nods. “Professor Byleth. Just out of curiosity—and I ask this of everyone new I come across—but might you have a Crest of your own?”

When she doesn’t respond, Sothis pops herself into her mind.

_You remember from the readings, do you not? Those… magical sigils, or something, passed down through the blood of nobles._

“Oh.” She blinks. “No, I don’t have one. I’m not a noble.”

“Even so, it’s possible that somehow you could have inherited—”

“Brother! There you are!”

A small girl bounds up to them. Her smile is sweet, cheeks rosy. The girl’s sea green hair drapes over her shoulders in two large, thick curls. They remind Byleth of bread for some reason. “Oh, forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt!”

“Flayn,” Seteth begins in a stern tone, “what are you doing here?”

“I wished to ask you if I could, perhaps, this year—”

“We have talked about this, Flayn. And it seems we will have to continue to talk about it. Later.” He says the last word through clenched teeth. “We are in the middle of a meeting.”

She pouts, but smiles again when she meets Byleth’s stare. “Oh, hello! I do not believe I have seen you around before.” Flayn gives a curtsy. Wearing a dress decorated with ribbons, frills, gold flourishes in the stitching, and puffy long sleeves, she looks like a doll. “I am Flayn, Seteth’s younger sister! Might you be the new professor he had told me of?”

“Yes.”

Flayn claps her hands together. “How lovely! It is always wonderful meeting new people!”

The door opens again and in walk more of the faculty, perhaps the other professors of the academy. Seteth shoos away his sister and she gives a quick wave to Byleth before complaining at her elder brother.

“I better go too,” Jeralt says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you at dinner. Good luck on your first day.”

“Okay, Father.”

“Good bye, Jeralt.” Manuela flutters her eyelashes at him, and he just gives another awkward smile before briskly walking out of the chamber.

Any potential nonsense is snuffed out once the faculty meeting begins. Apparently Byleth was pretty close at guessing the number of students at the academy. Well, more like she was at least within the range of the hundreds. There are somewhere around 500 to 550 this year. She didn’t even know there were that many nobles in Fódlan. (How many people _are_ there exactly in this continent?) Rhea informs her that the academy is open not just to nobles, but children and relatives of both active duty Knights of Seiros and those that have retired. Youths of all social standing are admitted as well, such as those from merchant families, and regular commoners.

So long as they have the means to pay for their tuition and board, anyway.

The student body is divided into three separate ‘houses’, although the number of students in each varies from year to year. A professor is responsible for around 50 to 60 students when at full enrollment capacity. Handling more than that is a challenge. There are also three classrooms for each house, one on the bottom floor of the academy, and two on the top.

“This year the house numbers are uneven,” Rhea points out, “so some professors will have less students to instruct that their peers, and some will have more. We have already assigned all the students their class blocks. Three blocks for each of the three houses. Professor Byleth, as you are the newest of our faculty, you will be given first choice this year.”

“Of what?”

“Of which house to instruct.”

“You’re familiar with the house leaders, correct?” Manuela asks. “The little lordlings you and Jeralt saved some days ago.” Byleth nods. “Usually, the house leaders are the nobles with the highest rank of any given year. But this year is quite a treat.”

“What are the odds to have the three heirs to the future of Fódlan attending here in the same year!” Hanneman marvels.

Manuela smiles. “Indeed. This year, Edelgard, the heir of the Adrestian Empire, leads the Black Eagles. Dimitri, crown prince to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, leads the Blue Lions. And Claude, grandson of Duke Riegan from the ruling house of the Leicester Alliance, leads the Golden Deer.”

“My suggestion,” starts Rhea, “is that you speak with the house leaders and familiarize yourself with at least some of the students. You will be guiding and instructing them for a whole year, so choose whoever you feel you resonate with the most. They should all be clustered around the Officers Academy by now. Classes start an hour later than usual on the first day of the academic year, so you have time before you are assigned a block.”

While Manuela and Hanneman only smile at her, the other six professors look at her curiously, one of them even with a bit of a scowl on his face. She doesn’t pay them anymore mind, and excuses herself.

_You remember the layout of this place, correct? The academy is to the left of the reception hall._

_Where_’_s that again?_

_Oh, for goodness sake. I really do have to look after you, don’t I?_

Byleth follows Sothis’ directions and finds herself in the reception hall on the first floor. It’s a very long and wide space with benched tables horizontally situated against the wall. The high ceilings showcase a row of big chandeliers leading all the way to the other large wooden door on the opposite side of the room.

_Look, there is one of them now._

She walks over to where Edelgard is standing near one of the tables. When the princess spots her, she gives a nod.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days, Byleth,” she greets. “Oh, sorry. Professor Byleth.”

“How did you know?”

“The house leaders were informed yesterday you would be assigned to one of us as an instructor. We haven’t told our classmates; nobody but us know.” She puts a hand on her hip. “Well now, I suppose this is where I try to persuade you to instruct our class. It’s the house leader’s responsibility to know all of their peers.”

“Aren’t there a lot of students? This will take a long time if you tell me everything about everyone.”

Edelgard frowns, looking concerned. “Oh, that’s true. I suppose I’ll just tell you about some of the students who stand out amongst the others, in more ways than one.”

“Including yourself.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I’d like to learn more about you too.”

The slightest of smiles returns to her face. “Very well.”

Byleth doesn’t know how long she spends sitting with Edelgard at the table. Even though she only picks a small handful of students to learn about, it’s difficult to remember everyone. (Why do they have such long names?) She’ll probably have to do word association with things such as the color orange or one of their hobbies.

“I shouldn’t keep you so long,” Edelgard says after a while. “You still have to talk to Dimitri and Claude, correct? No doubt they’ll try to summarize their class atmosphere as well.”

“Yes, I better go.”

“Regardless of what they tell you of their own houses,” Edelgard stands from her seat when Byleth does, “know that the Black Eagles will not disappoint. I will make sure of it.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, and so walks away to the courtyard of the academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I start taking creative liberties. You cannot show a monastery sprawling with students during Explore days and cutscenes, yet have only three classrooms that hold at max like 30 people each. But it's hard for me to justify Fódlan having _that_ many noble children all conveniently around the same age at any given time. So, I felt like a range of 250 - 300 makes sense. (Edit: I changed this range to 500 - 550 after contemplating it some more.)
> 
> The gatekeeper doesn't have a name, but I've seen "Anthony" being thrown around as a headcanon. I like that name; he seems like an Anthony.
> 
> Originally this installment was _a lot_ longer, but I decided to cut it. Next chapter will be fun. We'll finally get introduced to the bulk of our colorful cast of characters.
> 
> The bolded dates I put up at the beginning of chapters are for the days the opening scene takes place on. If a chapter opening just follows the same day as the previous, then no date will be added.
> 
> Final note I wanna make: most of this story will be from Byleth's perspective, but from time to time we'll also see things through other characters' eyes (Claude will have the second highest amount of POVs).
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Jeralt and Byleth are introduced to Rhea, the archbishop of the Church of Seiros. While her father gets reinstated as the captain of the knights, Byleth is given the odd job of being a professor to one of the three houses: Black Eagles, Blue Lions, or Golden Deer. She spends the next several days studying academic material in preparation before the school year officially begins. Monday of the following week, Byleth is introduced to her fellow faculty and is given the task to talk to the three house leaders in order to familiarize herself with the students in each house before she makes a definite decision. She finds Edelgard first who gives her a quick summary on some of the people in her class. Having gotten enough information to work with for one house, Byleth heads to the Officers Academy to find the other two lords and get idea of what it is she's actually gotten herself into.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ III ⧽  
  
Roll Call

More than several students are idling about in the courtyard when she gets there. The Officers Academy has only six classrooms, but each one is considerably big. From the open doorway of one of the bottom floor rooms, she sees two rows of six large columns spread evenly on either side of the space. The room is divided in half with a walkway in the center bordered by a set of long benched tables. Some tall bookshelves are tucked against the wall further in. On the opposite wall in the middle is a fireplace, something she didn’t think would be in a classroom.

Although she’s never been to school, so maybe this is normal.

At the front of the room is a desk, chair, and a tall chalkboard. Regardless of which house she decides to teach, that’s probably where she’ll be spending most of her time.

“What class is this, anyway?”

Though it’s a question she intended for herself, a student near the doorway hears her. “Oh, this is the Black Eagles class!”

Sure enough, a red banner with a black eagle hangs on either side of the doorway. The other classrooms also have them: the middle banners are blue with a lion, and the furthest are yellow sporting a deer silhouette.

“Right,” she replies. “Thank you.”

Byleth takes a peek inside. Nobody has been seated yet, many scattered around the room either chatting in pairs or in clusters. She can’t remember a lot of the students Edelgard talked about. So many in this house had ‘von’ as part of their surname; she’s positive one day she’s going to get them mixed up.

“Excuse me, might you be lost?”

To her left is a boy, posture straight and proud, with a smaller girl hiding behind him. His smile matches the warmth of his slightly wavy ginger locks. The girl’s messy plum-colored hair gets in her eyes.

“Oh, uh, I’m just looking around,” she lies. “What’s your name?” because if she doesn’t remember _at least_ one name in this whole school, she’ll likely never make it as a teacher.

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir,” he introduces, bowing. “And this is Bernadetta von Varley.”

Bernadetta squeaks, hiding further behind him. “I um, I-I don’t talk to strangers! S-Sorry!”

Ah, these are a few of the people Edelgard mentioned. Ferdinand, who loves to remind others he’s a well-bred noble and overdoes it in trying to be the picture of excellence. And then Bernadetta, who is so incredibly introverted and even fearful of the outside world, that she never leaves her dorm unless she absolutely has to.

Ignoring the latter (she looks downright terrified; Byleth can’t look _that_ scary), she says to Ferdinand, “Oh, right. I’ve heard of you.”

“You have!” A statement, not a question. “Well, I am quite pleased! I would be surprised if you hadn’t. I am, after all, the Empire’s prime minister’s son.”

“Edelgard told me as much.”

“Oh, she did. Did she… happen to say anything else? Happen to mention my skills? I have many. Would you like to hear about them?”

“Maybe later.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind, honest! I excel at many things, including but not limited to: horseback riding, lancefaire, cleaning armor, dancing—”

“I’m gonna go talk to more people. I’ll see you around, Ferdinand.”

He blinks, still smiling. “Oh, uh, well yes! If you’re in our class, I can tell you all about my personal feats! You can sit next to me!”

“Sure, okay,” is all she says before walking away from him as quickly as possible.

_Edelgard wasn’t kidding. He does talk about himself lot._

Making quick rounds through the classroom, the names the imperial princess had mentioned to her finally align with the faces. The first is Dorothea, a talented young songstress and the only commoner in the Black Eagles. Brown curls drape down her back, emerald eyes filled with mirth and warmth. She’s easy to talk to, but Byleth has a feeling she winks too much at her.

“Are you a commoner too?” Dorothea asks her.

“Yes.”

“Oh, I’m not alone then! If you join our class, we can hang out. Just have some girl time, you and I. I’d love to get to know you more.”

“If I get assigned here, then sure.”

“Then I absolutely hope you do,” she says with yet another wink. That’s the third one so far. “But don’t let me keep you. I’m sure we’ll have plenty more opportunities to chat.”

She moves on to the other side of class where two more students are loitering. She recognizes them from Edelgard’s descriptions of their body language.

Caspar, the loud and boisterous noble who doesn’t act very noble in his mannerisms. His toothy grin is wide as he introduces himself, disposition colorful like his short, sky-blue hair. Next to him is a taller boy who looks like he doesn’t even want to be here. Sleepy eyes match the mood of his muted green bobbed haircut. She’s almost sure he’s only half paying attention to their introductions; Caspar is doing most of the talking. (She has a feeling this is normal for them.)

“Lindhardt,” he introduces himself. “Good bye.”

“Geez, Lindhardt.” Caspar shakes his head. “You can at least be a little more friendly. Don’t mind him, uh…?”

“Byleth.”

“Byleth! Neat name. Are you gonna be in our class? If you are, that’ll be great so I can show you my sick moves! I’m pretty strong!”

The way he puffs up his chest in pride makes her think of a small, fluffy dog that likes to yap. It’s probably best she doesn’t say that, though.

“I don’t doubt it.”

None of the other students she recognizes. Even when they introduce themselves, she can’t remember anything about them. But one near the fireplace does, and only because Edelgard made it a point to mention him. Her stalwart, mildly intimidating retainer, Hubert von Vestra.

He’s very tall, dwarfing the girl speaking with him. Her burgundy hair is tied in a neat, thick braid that rests over her shoulder. Her skin is a warm olive tone, purple triangular tattoo underneath her right eye. Petra. She’s probably the girl named Petra. From an island nation she can’t remember the name of right now.

“You must be Byleth,” Hubert says when she approaches. “Lady Edelgard has told me about you. I offer my sincerest thanks for saving her life.”

“I only did what needed to be done.”

He regards her, a calm smile on his face. Creepy, is maybe the better word. Some tables over, she heard a few girls giggling about their attraction to him. ‘Broody’, or something. Though with pale skin and half of his face covered by inky black hair, she can’t imagine why. His focused stare makes him look like a vulture perched on a branch in the middle of a wasteland, if she’s being honest.

Then again, ‘attraction’ is only a thing she’s witnessed other people experience. Who is she to judge?

Hubert’s expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t introduce himself. “This is Petra Macneary. She’s from Brigid,” oh, that’s what it’s called; right, “an archipelago to the south of Adrestia. In Fódlan terms, she’d be the heir to the throne.”

Petra nods. “I am very happy to have been… no, I am pleased, to be making your acquaintance.”

“She’s intelligent and hardworking,” Hubert continues, “but the language of Fódlan she has yet to fully grasp.”

“I will do my best,” Petra smiles, “to be grasping better the language. In much quickness.”

“If what Edelgard said about you is true,” Byleth notes, “then I believe you will.”

The girl gives her a brighter smile. “Yes, I will do my best.”

Ferdinand spots her from the other side of the room, waving as he begins to walk over. That’s Byleth’s cue to quickly make an exit. While nice enough, she’s not up for talking to him more right now. She still has to make a decision on who to teach, and she hasn’t even run into—

“Miss Byleth!”

Dimitri approaches from across the lawn. “I was wondering when I’d see you out here.”

“Good morning, Dimitri. Let’s walk away. Right now.”

“Oh, uh, alright then.”

They sit at a nearby bench, and when she looks up, no sign of Ferdinand. “Sorry, I should have addressed you as ‘Professor’, instead. I’ll remember from now on.” Dimitri follows her gaze to the classroom. “Have you decided which of us you’ll teach?”

“Not yet. Rhea said I should make my quick rounds through here first and then decide.”

“Well there’s still a bit of time. I can tell you about some of the students in my house. All of them work hard in their craft.”

“Why don’t you start by telling me a little about yourself first?”

“Me? It’s…,” he rubs the back of his neck, “it’s quite difficult to come up with something to say on the spot.”

He does his best to give a brief insight on himself, but she can tell he’s picking his words carefully every time he has to pause in-between sentences. All he manages to get out is that his story isn’t much of a happy one, and she doesn’t want to press him for details. Instead, he’s quick to talk about some of the other students. Three of his childhood friends, his dutiful retainer, and several others he’s met while being here.

“It sounds like you think highly of them,” she points out.

“I like to give credit where credit is due. Even the ones who give me and our house more… well, trouble, they’re not without their merits either. Speaking of which…,” he looks across the lawn to where a student is approaching them, “…here he comes. I had hoped you would have been able to avoid him for a while longer. I’m so sorry in advance, Professor.”

Dimitri gives a tired yet quiet sigh as the second young man stands in front of them. Tall, with a head of fiery red hair and a crooked smile on his lips, Byleth supposes this has to be the Sylvain guy Dimitri spoke of. The shameless ‘skirt-chaser’.

_That is a kind way of saying he is uncaring of who he shares his bed with. Leave now._

Sothis clicks her tongue when Byleth stays put.

“Well well, your Highness,” Sylvain starts, “we were wondering where you had gone off to. Color me surprised to find you with a lady friend. And a very beautiful one at that, too. Today must be my lucky day.”

He sits down on the other side of Byleth, draping an arm over the backrest on her side. He leans in, eyebrow quirked. “I’m Sylvain José Gautier, but you can call me any time you like. From across the courtyard, in the reception hall, wherever, I’ll come running. Into your arms, or your quarters; I’m not picky.”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri warns.

“I’ve never seen you around before—and trust me, I’d remember a…,” Sothis screams in her ear to leave again when his gaze flicks down to her chest, smile growing wider, before he meets her eyes again, “pretty face like yours anywhere.”

“_Ahem._” Dimitri bolts up from his seat. “Miss Byleth, I think it would be a good idea if you introduced yourself to the others in the class. I’m sure they’d love to meet you. I need to speak with Sylvain. _Privately._”

The taller boy leans away, hands held up in front of him. “I’m just being friendly, Prince Dimitri! No harm done.”

_Leave, now! He has given you an opening!_

Byleth calmly walks away. She hears Dimitri scold Sylvain about being proper and reprimanding him for “eyeing her as she walks”. Sothis sighs, and Byleth is almost sure she’s slumping in her throne right now.

The Blue Lions classroom is the same as that of its neighbor. The only difference being the color choice for the banners inside. Maybe it’s the meticulous way in which Dimitri described some of his peers that she thinks she can figure out who is who.

To the left is a tall boy, the tallest she’s seen so far. Broad-shouldered. Silver hair cropped close that contrasts with his dark skin tone. While his face is stern, the way he listens intently to the small boy next to him tells her this must be Dedue Molinaro. Dimitri’s retainer.

Said smaller boy has a much lighter skin tone, freckles powdering his nose and cheeks. Short gray hair and light green eyes, she figures this is Ashe Duran.

“Hello,” she says, walking up to them. “Don’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, hello!” Ashe greets, smiling warmly at her. “And you’re not interrupting. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Ashe, and this here is Dedue! Who might you be?”

“Byleth.”

Dedue bows then. “You have my utmost thanks for saving His Highness last week. Please, allow me to repay you for your kindness. I can prepare you a meal as a token of my gratitude.”

“That’s not necessary. It’s like I told him back then: no reward needed.”

“You’re a mercenary, right?” Ashe asks. “Or, you were? Prince Dimitri told us a little about you.”

“He did?”

“Yes! You must be someone amazing to have so much skill. Are you going to be joining our class?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Well if you do, feel free to ask me questions! I take good notes so if you ever miss anything, I can help you study.”

She stares at him. “Earnest, thoughtful, and kind.”

“Um, sorry?”

“That’s what I was told about you.”

“O-Oh.” Chuckling under his breath, he looks away, cheeks pink. “That’s… um, that’s a lot of p-praise for someone like me….”

Byleth looks up at Dedue. “Considerate, stern yet gentle.”

“Is that what His Highness has said about me?”

“Yes.”

“He’s only being generous. In the future, it’s in your best interest you don’t interact with me.”

“Oh Dedue,” Ashe starts, “don’t go saying that stuff again, please! If Prince Dimitri thinks you’re considerate and gentle, it’s because you are. Byleth doesn’t know you, but I’m sure if you gave her the chance, she’d like you a lot—like we all do.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, and then bows again. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be rude. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with His Highness.”

Byleth points to the door. “In the courtyard scolding Sylvain.”

“So the usual. Thank you,” and then he’s off.

Ashe sighs, shaking his head. “Dedue has had a hard life, so he’s not that open with others. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. If he doesn’t want to talk, I’m not going to force him.”

She gets a smile in response. “Do you want to meet everyone else? I can introduce you. If Prince Dimitri is talking to Sylvain… well, it’s going to be a while until he comes back. Did you… meet Sylvain already?”

“Yes.”

“Oh boy.” He frowns. “I hope he didn’t scare you off. Sylvain is… um…”

“Dimitri called him a skirt-chaser.”

“Ah, well, yes. That’s… That’s the nice word for it. Other people call him, erm, ruder things like—”

“He’s a whore,” says a voice from beside them. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Ashe.”

“_Felix!_” a second one scolds.

Ashe’s face turns red at the word. Two other students walk up to them, a boy and a girl. “I’m so sorry,” the girl with green eyes apologizes. “Felix can be very blunt. Maybe _too_ blunt. Right, Felix?”

“I’m saying it like it is, Ingrid. Sylvain’s a whore. Or do you prefer the word ‘slut’? Does that sound better to you? Okay: Sylvain is a slut.”

With a heavy sigh, Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m so sorry, really sorry,” she says to Byleth. “We got curious as to who the mystery girl was talking to Ashe, and we overheard part of your conversation. Felix isn’t the best with words. I’m Ingrid, though I guess you already figured that out.”

Ingrid Brandl Galatea, the image of a perfect knight. That’s what Dimitri called her. One of his childhood friends along with Felix and Sylvain. She trains hard and has a big appetite. The warmth in her smile is as golden as her hair, tied together in a long loose braid down her back.

Side by side, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is a stark contrast. Dark hair tied up in a bun, some strands falling over his face. Pale complexion. His sharp brown eyes peer into Byleth, as if under a magnifying glass. A sword is strapped to his belt.

“Dark teal hair, blue eyes,” Felix notes. “The boar prince told us about you. You’re Byleth, daughter of Blade Breaker Jeralt. A mercenary just like him.”

“That’s right.”

“Fight me.”

Ingrid sputters. “Felix, for goddess’ sake.”

“He said she’s quick with a blade. I want to test that opinion.”

“Is that all you think about? Fighting?”

“Not any different than how much you think about when your next meal is going to be.”

“Um,” Ashe taps Byleth on the arm, “have you met Mercedes or Annette yet? Let’s go over and say hello!”

He hurriedly ushers her away to the other side of the room before the bickering gets any worse. There they meet Mercedes and Annette, two girls chatting away near the fireplace.

“Hey Ashe!” the shorter one greets. Ginger hair in pigtails shaped like little donuts, blue eyes, and rosy cheeks on a light complexion. This is probably Annette, so the other has to be Mercedes. “We were just talking about you! Like, ‘gee, I wonder who that girl is that Ashe’s talking to’.”

Mercedes giggles behind a hand. Her hair is a very light brown, almost blonde. With a blue striped ribbon, it’s tied in a loose ponytail that rests over her left shoulder. The shawl she wears on top of her uniform looks warm. “We were going to go over and introduce ourselves, but you looked busy with Ingrid and Felix there.” She smiles at Byleth. “Hello. I’m Mercedes, and this is my best friend, Annette.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Annette says. “Are you part of the Blue Lions house?”

“No.”

“She’s Byleth,” Ashe clarifies. “The mercenary who saved Prince Dimitri.”

Annette gasps. “Oh! So you’re the—oh wow!”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Byleth.” As Mercedes smiles, her lavender eyes light up. “Dimitri has told us many nice things about you. Thank you for saving him.”

“I’ve only known him for a short time. I don’t know what he’d have to say about me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. It’s quite adorable, actually. If you join our class, I’d love for us to have tea sometime. With baked treats, of course.”

“Count me in too!” Annette chirps.

Byleth nods, and says her goodbyes before going around and briefly skimming the rest of the house. Ashe is a big help, although he doesn’t mention to the others about her being a former mercenary. (Maybe everyone already knows.) But she does wonder how many praises Dimitri has sung about her when she’s not around. They’re not friends, and barely acquaintances.

_Is it wrong for people to compliment you?_

_No. Just not used to it._

_Perhaps you ought to learn to be. Even without doing much of anything, some of the students here are quite friendly with you._

_Like Sylvain?_

Sothis scoffs.

_That young man is a whole other matter entirely. His friendliness is conditional. You heard what Felix said._

_That he’s a whore?_

_Let us not be crude. But a shameless philanderer is a type of person you should consider not getting close to. Did you not see how he was eyeing your… assets?_

_I don’t pay attention to stuff like that._

_You should start. But you have never been around people your age, have you? I do not blame you for being oblivious to their blatant attraction toward you. Just be wise, is all I ask._

“—leth?”

She blinks. Ashe is staring at her. “Are you okay? You kinda spaced out.”

“I’m fine. Just overthinking.”

He looks guilty. “Are you feeling pressured to join? I’m sorry. We really didn’t mean to make you feel like that. Go wherever you’re most comfortable.”

“Thanks. Both for that, and your help. I’ll see you around, Ashe.”

The boy gives her a smile before heading back inside.

More students are filing into their classrooms now. She’s running out of time, and she still has one entire house to learn about. Or at least gauge the kind of atmosphere they’ll bring, as Rhea had said. The Black Eagles are full of nobles who she could get into good graces with if she ever needs anything. But why would she? If her future just consists of her being a professor, then there’s no reason to bother with something like that. The Blue Lions seem friendly and eager to get to know her better, so maybe—

_No, absolutely not!_

_I have to give him a chance, Sothis. It’s not fair otherwise._

_Yes… I suppose you are correct. Dimitri seemed honest when describing him as someone likable outside of such a flaw. But forgive me for worrying; we share the same body. I do not appreciate… us, being looked at in such a manner._

_I’ll try to care more in the future._

With a sigh, Sothis grumbles her discontent, but otherwise remains quiet for now.

“So, you scored a teaching gig here.”

The last of the house leaders, Claude, leans against a pillar, arms crossed. “Saw you running around between the other two houses. You were quick to escape the Noblest of Nobles from the eagle’s nest, and spent a lot of time with the cubs. Ashe was beaming so bright, he could go one-on-one with the sun. Gonna choose them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, sand’s running out in the hourglass, Teach.”

“Teach?”

Claude shrugs. “Whatever house you pick, you’re gonna be ‘Professor’ to everyone. Might as well get used to us calling you by your title once word gets around. But, if you haven’t decided on a class yet, mind if I bend your ear a bit? I bet you’d like ours. We’re not as… difficult, as the other two.”

Byleth nods. “Start with yourself.”

“You don’t waste any time, do you? Have I tickled your fancy, perhaps?”

“The house leader is who I’ll be working with the most. That’s what I learned at the meeting.”

“I get it. Wanna see if we’ll vibe. You can like all the other students, but if you don’t adore the house leader, then what’s the point? Very pragmatic of you. Well you’re in luck, because it’s impossible to _not_ adore me. But,” he pushes off from the pillar, “I’d honestly rather get to know you throughout the year instead of a crash course on our histories. You took too long with the others though. Guess I’m gonna have to give you a quick rundown before you report back to Rhea.”

Claude doesn’t say anything about himself. Instead he randomly picks out students in the class from his spot near the doorway. Pointing to each one, he gives their full names, and any ‘fun facts’.

“Hilda Valentine Goneril.” She’s at the front of the class, playing with one of her long pink pigtails. A hip is quirked to one side as she stands. “A self-proclaimed fashionista. Spoiled by her older brother and their father. If you looked up ‘lazy’ in the dictionary, her picture wouldn’t be there because… well, she’d never get around to submitting it. Not unusual for a noble, I guess. My number two in my schemes, when she actually wants to put in the effort, that is.”

Next he points to a tall boy with a gaudy red rose pinned to his uniform blazer. “Ah, Lorenz. Lorenz, Lorenz, Lorenz.” His hair is indescribable outside of being purple. (Are bangs supposed to be cut like that?) “Him and Ferdinand? Peas in a pod when it comes to how proud they are of being nobles. You’ll never forget his name, and he’ll make sure to remind you at least once a week. You’ll hear it in due time, so I won’t even bother. He thinks he’s smooth with the ladies, but he’s pretty self-deluded. I’ll let you put two and two together.”

“Marianne von Edmund.” Her attention is directed to the girl with baggy eyes next to Hilda. Pale blue hair is kept in place by a braid around it, although some locks fall loose over the sides of her face. “I actually don’t know a lot about her. She doesn’t talk much; in fact, I don’t think many people even know what she sounds like. I see her a lot at the stables though.”

Pointing to a short boy with large round glasses, he continues, “Ignatz Victor.” His olive green hair is neatly styled but hugs the side of his face. “He’s the second son of a merchant family. Since he’s not inheriting anything, he’s here to be a knight. I have a feeling he’s only doing it to please his parents, though. Good kid, from what I know of him so far.”

The next student he mentions is a rather small girl standing next to Ignatz. Her snowy white hair reaches down to the middle of her back. Two locks rest over her shoulders. “Lysithea von Ordelia. Super smart and studious. Also the youngest student in the academy, but she gets aaangry if you treat her like a child. I do it on purpose, though. We all gotta make our own fun around here.”

He snickers, then points to another student. “Raphael Kirsten.” The largest boy in the room, almost as tall as Dedue. Unlike the latter, though, he’s built a lot more broadly (she didn’t think anyone could be broader than Dedue). The dress shirt strains against his chest. All those buttons look ready to burst at any moment. “He used to be from a merchant family, but his parents died in an accident. He’s had a hard life, yet he’s still friendly and optimistic. Not the smartest tool in the shed, but he tries. His hobbies include training, eating, and—actually, that’s about it.”

Claude glances around the room, pursing his lips. “And, because we’re pressed for time, I think I’ll pick… oh, of course. Leonie Pinelli.” He points to the girl next to Raphael. Short, ginger hair. A confident smile as she talks with her companion. “Competitive and the hardest worker I’ve ever known. But she’s also pretty stingy. I think it has to do with the fact that her village pitched in to send her here. Probably saving up every last coin so she can repay them.”

“There’s a lot of commoners in this house,” Byleth notes.

“Yeah, the Alliance is the smallest nation in Fódlan, so we have the least amount of nobles. But what we lack in furs and caviar, we make up for in spirit.”

Claude stretches his arms and rests them behind his head. “Listen, there’re lots of good folks in the other houses too, noble or not. It’s a mixed bag even with the same social standing. No hard feelings if you don’t pick us. Dimitri’s a swell guy, and Edelgard’s a model student. At the end of the day, it’s whatever your gut tells you. Being a mercenary, I’m sure you’ve had to rely on it more than a few times before.”

_My gut instinct…._

“Anyway, I better get in there; class will start soon. Don’t think too hard about it, Teach. It’s not a life or death situation. But hey,” he walks backward into the room at an even pace, “you, me, the Golden Deer?” With a tilt of his head, Claude smirks, holding out his arms as if presenting himself on a stage. “We could be great together.”

Giving a two fingered salute, he turns around and doesn’t look back.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


“I hope you were able to familiarize yourself with some of our students,” Rhea says when Byleth returns to the audience chamber. “I have your teaching materials ready if you have decided which house you would like to instruct.”

“And which block,” Seteth reminds. “Block A has the house leaders, while Blocks B and C do not.”

One of the other professors looks at her. “With someone of little experience such as yourself, maybe taking Block B would be wiser for your first year here. You won’t be responsible for one of the heirs.” He says it with a grin, but the corners of his lips are strained.

“Why don’t you let her decide on her own?” Manuela suggests, giving him a smile laced with honey and poison. “No matter which one you choose,” her tone is warm as she regards Byleth, “we won’t mind helping you adjust to your new position should you need it.”

“We cannot do the work for you of course,” Hanneman adds, “but we’ll gladly offer advice on whatever you need, whether it be handling problem students, or how to approach organizing your lesson plans.”

“If you cannot decide,” Rhea says in that gentle voice of hers, “then I will assign you a house. I only say this because classes do start in about 15 minutes, and we cannot keep the students waiting.”

_The Black Eagles seem like the easiest house to teach. It has the most nobles who no doubt already have some education; they should excel quickly. The Blue Lions, however, appear to have the strongest bonds among friends. This will do you well in training and mock battles._

_And the Golden Deer?_

_You are a commoner. You can relate to their struggles. But being that they have so many commoners, a great number of them might not have the same textbook education or that of weapons compared to the other two. It might pose a challenge._

_Those are all good points. With those odds…_

_Do not allow me to influence you. Remember what that young man said: follow your gut. What does it say, Byleth?_

“Well, Professor?” Seteth crosses his arms. “Time is of the essence. Which house do you choose?”

  
  
  
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She reaches the classroom as soon as the cathedral bell resonates all over the monastery, signaling the start of the school day. All the students are seated, chattering between themselves. Byleth’s heels click along the stones as she walks down the central aisle, the large wooden doors closing behind her.

Nobody pays her any mind until she sets her things down on the front desk. She spells out her name on the chalkboard, and underlines it. Dusting the chalk off her hands, she moves to the front of her desk at the center.

It isn’t until the classroom falls silent that she speaks.

“Hello. I’m Professor Byleth, and I’ll be your instructor this year.”

In the aisle seat, at the first table on the right side of the room, there he sits. His elbows rest on the surface, chin supported by his interlinked hands. He stares at her, mirth lighting up his features.

Claude’s smirk turns into the toothiest grin she’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy October! This chapter was fun for me to write. One of my favorites so far. I love these quirky kids and their colorful anime hair.
> 
> Sooo, I kinda vaguely hinted about the type of relationships some of them will have with each other, and with Byleth. Most will be platonic with her, but, y'know. This fic is tagged as "Romance" for a reason, so. Claude won't always monopolize her time. Based on this chapter alone, I'm curious to see if you folks can guess who will fall into the "platonic" circle and who will be lumped with Claude into the "romantic" one before it becomes obvious (which will be soon). I'll give you a freebie: for the latter category, it's an even number, single digit less than 8.
> 
> Uh, but I do wanna make a note: there are waaay too many characters in _Three Houses_ so unfortunately not all of them will get equal screentime. But the ones who play a bigger role in my "revised" narrative, I'll do my best to develop them.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth weaves her way through the Officers Academy to scope out some of the students. Most are generally friendly, others she'll probably need to work on melting the ice with, and one is a little too forward with his intentions toward her, much to Sothis' frustration. All three houses provide something unique, making the choice difficult. In the end, she follows her gut instinct and picks the Golden Deer. She doesn't know how this'll play out in the long run, but Claude's pleased grin at the announcement hints that monotonous days at the monastery may be far and few in between.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ IV ⧽  
  
The Lessons Begin

Stunned silence follows her announcement. Everyone stares at her, bug-eyed, except for Claude who continues to grin her way.

“Morning, Teach,” he greets, breaking the quiet stupefaction of the room. “So, you’re in charge of our class. I was almost sure you’d pick His Royalness.”

“Someone told me to follow my gut instinct, so I did.”

“Aww, it’s okay; you don’t have to lie. You wanted to lead our class so you could get to know me better. I’m flattered, really.”

Lorenz clears his throat. “I doubt she chose this house specifically for you, _Claude._” He turns his attention to Byleth. “I mean this in the politest way, but, you look quite young to be a professor.”

“Yeah.” Hilda puts a finger to her chin. “When I saw you talking with Claude earlier, I thought you were a student in our house.”

“Don’t you know who that is?” Leonie shakes her head at everyone, then meets Byleth’s stare. “You’re Captain Jeralt’s kid, right?” Byleth nods, and the other girl gives a laugh. “So you’ll be training us for a whole year. Well, you’re not Jeralt, but I guess you’re the next best thing. I can’t wait to see how you handle yourself in a battle. Did he ever tell you about me?”

“No. I know you’re Leonie though because Claude told me earlier.” Leonie frowns, almost pouts. “We’ll do training, sure, but for now we’re going to focus on some Fódlan history.”

Lysithea crosses her arms. “Do you even know what you’re doing? You’ve only been here for a few days.”

“It’ll be a learning experience for us both.”

She makes a strangled sound between a gasp and a scoff. Claude continues to look smug as he stands up from his seat. Addressing the class, he says, “Now now, let’s not give Teach here a hard time. It’s only her first day; let’s wait until the middle of the year, at least. Obviously, she picked us because we’re the best of the best in all the land.”

He strolls over to her, hands behind his back. “But, since you probably won’t know exactly what you’re doing, I’d be more than happy to help. How about we break the ice with intros? Tell us, Teach, because I’m sure we’re all dying to know. Looking as young as you do, we gotta wonder: how old are you?”

“I don’t know.”

Murmurs buzz in the classroom, but Claude’s smile doesn’t falter. “Lightening the mood. I get it. But really, how old?”

Byleth shrugs.

His smile falls then. “You don’t… know. When’s your birthday?”

“Horsebow Moon, the 20th.”

“Alright, so if you know that much, then surely you should know your age. Kinda weird that you don’t.”

“Does it matter?”

He’s quiet, studying her face. “If it doesn’t matter to you, maybe not.”

“Okay. Please go back to your seat so I can start.”

She follows Claude’s advice and asks everyone to stand so they can introduce themselves to her. She has around 40 students, although something in her gut tells her a few will be asking to be transferred to the other blocks.

After everyone has said their piece, Byleth takes the history book from her desk and flips it to the first chapter. “Ignatz, can you start us off by reading the first paragraph?”

“O-Oh, uh, of course, Professor!” He adjusts his glasses, clearing his throat. “‘The great continent of Fódlan is divided into three nations, all protected by the goddess…”

She has everyone read a paragraph from the first chapter as she writes down key dates on the chalkboard. If she forgets a fact, Lysithea is quick to raise her hand and correct her, even citing the page number where it is. Byleth thanks her for every edit and continues on with the lesson.

The students who doze off in the back have their names written on a piece of paper. For her reference, of course, should they become problems later down the line. She doesn’t actually plan to do anything about it now.

When the bell gongs sometime later, signaling the afternoon, everyone is quick to put their things away. Raphael is the first out of his seat. “Nice lecture today, Professor!” he comments, running out the door exclaiming something about meat skewers.

“After lunch we’ll have a little quiz to see what you remember,” she says, but only half of them bother to stay behind and listen. “I’ll leave the notes up on the board for a few more minutes.”

The remaining still scribbling in their seats are Ignatz, Marianne, and Lysithea. When they’re done, the three of them gather their things into their satchels. Ignatz is the only one to smile and wish her a good lunch before he follows the girls out the door.

_Your students do not respect you._

Byleth wipes the board off. She holds her breath as she does so, swatting away the stray dust from her face. Being there for the first few hours, in front of everyone, she knows a good chunk of them didn’t bother listening to her. It doesn’t help that Hilda had to gently suggest to lecture in a less monotonous voice.

_I don’t really care if they respect me or not._

_An educator should always care if their pupils respect them. They will refuse to learn otherwise._

_But it makes sense why they don’t. I don’t even know how old I am, and I forgot enough of the historical facts that Lysithea was teaching everyone for a few minutes._

_Why do you not know your own age?_

_I’ve… never counted. Celebrating birthdays was a luxury for me. I don’t even know if my father knows._

When she turns around to organize her things from the desk, she notices Claude is still at his. He’s staring at her, expression neutral.

“Did you want something, Claude? Or did you need the notes? I can write them down again.”

“Nah, I’ve already got ‘em.” He taps his forehead. There’s a long pause. “They feel offended, y’know.”

“Who?”

“The class.”

“I don’t think I did anything wrong. I was following my lesson plan. It’s rough, sure, but I’ll fine tune it as we go along.”

“No no, that’s not what I mean.” He gives a casual flick of his hand. “Consider this. You’re a noble proud of their status, and even more so after getting accepted into the prestigious Officers Academy of Garreg Mach. Or you’re a commoner, who paid an arm and a leg to get accepted for a _chance_ at being a knight and working for a noble to earn back your losses. Then here comes the new professor, young—so young, that you wonder if this has to be a joke. You see where I’m going with this?”

Byleth doesn’t respond, so Claude continues, “It’s a slap in the face to a lot of people here. From the highest ranking noble in this class, to the poorest commoner. Some of them are too polite to admit it aloud, like Lorenz, ever the teacher’s pet. Others only want one thing out of your instruction, like Leonie, who can’t wait to wipe the floor with you to prove something.”

“Archbishop Rhea appointed me here. I didn’t ask for this job.”

“But you _did_ choose this class. For what reason, I don’t know. And from what I’ve seen so far, I have a feeling you don’t either.”

Claude stuffs his things away, slinging the satchel over his shoulder. “But, I’m curious to see how this’ll all play out. I’ll be rooting for you, Teach.”

He leaves without another word, and Byleth is left alone.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


She opts to eat her lunch in the classroom. There isn’t tomato soup, and she doesn’t ask if there’re any other kinds of broths because the line is long. She doesn’t want to waste people’s time. Instead she just gets today’s special: meat skewers, which is probably what Raphael was salivating over earlier.

The dining hall is full with faculty, students, and knights. Friends and peers cluster around different areas of the tables, and even outside in the gardens or near the pond. Byleth recognizes some of the students she met that morning, but doesn’t bother to greet them. Jeralt is also there, surrounded by a few of his mercenaries, the knights, and Alois. Leonie is there too, beaming while she chats up him up.

_I’ll see him at dinner, then._

Only an hour is allotted to everyone for lunch. Time management is something she was told she needed to be keen on as an instructor, so she eats her food as she makes her way back to the classroom. There’s still the quiz she needs to write up.

By the time the students return, she has all 40 questions on the chalkboard.

“Professor,” Hilda starts with a sweet smile, “this is sort of a lot for the first day, don’t you think?”

“I went over a lot of material.”

“True, but,” she twirls a lock of hair around her finger, “all the more to not push so much on us so soon, right? I mean, we were taking a break for a good hour. We’re all probably sleepy after eating and, well, don’t you think you’ll get better results if you wait to test us? Like, at the end of the week?”

“I already wrote all the questions up.”

“And you did a great job! You have pretty writing; very neat organization too. But, 40 questions? That’s more like a test than a quiz.”

Byleth stares at the chalkboard. From top to bottom she had printed every question, some that have a broad answer and some with a specific one. If she wants her students to respect her, maybe she should be hard on them? She can’t do anything about her age, so she’ll have to find another solution.

“No, I think this is fine,” is all she says before she flips over the hourglass. “One hour. Start.”

Groans resonate from the classroom, but everyone pulls out a piece of parchment regardless.

She catches a few of them looking over the shoulders of their seat neighbors. Their names are added onto her ‘Potential Problem Students’ list. When time is up, she asks everyone to pass their tests to the central aisle. A few of them blow on their paper where the ink is still wet.

All eyes are on her as she flips through the quizzes at the front of her desk. She separates them into two piles.

“I will grade this side,” she says, pointing to the right stack. “This one, I won’t.”

Taking the first paper from the left, she rips it in half.

Gasps and raised eyebrows is the response she gets. “I saw some people cheating. If you don’t want to do the quiz right, that’s fine. I just won’t grade it.” She takes the remaining in the stack and rips them up altogether.

“Now I will tell you the right answers.” She stands with her own sheet of answers, pointing to each question with the chalk. “Question 1: From which of the three nations did the other two come from? The answer is the Adrestian Empire.”

Some of the students glare at her as she goes through the quiz. Maybe the ones who know they cheated and won’t get a grade.

“You can all write down the answers for extra study material,” she says as she finishes the last sentence on question 40. “Meanwhile,” she returns to her seat, “I’m going to look over the rest of these.”

For the most part, the class is silent. There are a few murmurs here and there, but she doesn’t look up from her grading. Only about half of the students get passing marks, with Lysithea being the sole perfect score. Claude, surprisingly, has the second highest one. Ignatz and Lorenz follow close behind. At the very least, she’s… relieved? Glad? Content, that the students Claude had pointed out to her at the beginning of the day aren’t among the cheaters, including Hilda.

Though maybe she’s too lazy to even cheat, seeing as how she has one of the lowest scores.

“I will give these back when class is over,” Byleth says, neatly organizing the stack off to the side. “If I don’t call your name, then that means I ripped up your quiz. On to the next lesson. Now we’re going to get into the first chapter on the history of Fódlanian weapons.”

Less groans this time, but she does get more grimaces.

Nobody causes problems for her the rest of the lecture. The bell tolls for the end of class when she’s mid-sentence on why axes are slower than most swords and lances. She wonders what time it is. She didn’t get to finish all she wanted to teach the first day. Or, at least, what she had written down in her lesson plan.

“After you get your quiz, you can leave. I was also told to tell you all that I have office hours. I don’t have an office, so my room functions as that. It’s at the end of the first floor dormitories, nearest the training grounds. Okay. Quizzes.”

She calls each name and one by one the students filter out of the room. Some take the paper without a word, some say ‘thank you’, and others snatch it from her hands. When she’s gone through everyone, the ones without quizzes to show for their first day leave in a huff. She thinks she hears some curse word being mumbled in the same sentence as her name.

Claude stays behind again, watching as she dusts the chalkboard. “Marvelous first day, Teach. Bravo.”

“Thank you.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh. Then why did you say it?”

“Because I was being sarcastic?”

She blinks at him, then turns back to dusting.

He saunters over to her, taking a chalk from the wooden bar. Claude draws a circle. “Here’s one group.” Underneath he writes, ‘Nobles’. Then he draws another circle overlapping it on the right. “And here’s another.” It’s labeled, ‘Commoners’.

“This,” he taps the chalk at the center where the two circles converge, “right here, is something to think about.” He writes, ‘People Who Don’t Like You After Day 1’.

Byleth stares at it. “That portion is bigger than the other sides.”

“Yeah it kinda is.”

“Where do you fall in this?” she asks.

Claude draws a much smaller circle off to the side. He writes ‘Me’ with an arrow pointing to the shape. “I’m more of a bystander.”

“You don’t dislike me?”

“Can’t dislike someone you don’t know.”

She stares at the overlapping circles for a good minute before wiping the image away with the duster. “I’m doing my job.”

“Some people beg to differ.”

Byleth meets his eyes, and he doesn’t turn away. They’re very green. “I’m fine with being disliked. Opinions don’t matter so long as I do what I’m told and get compensated for it.”

“That’s how you’re gonna approach this? Wow.”

“As a mercenary,” she starts, putting her papers and the thinner books in the satchel, “you go where you’re hired to. Do your job and then get paid. Or underpaid. Or not paid at all. At least in coin. Sometimes, not even that.”

Jeralt is good at writing up contracts, but he’s not a noble. If one of their customers decides not to pay what their company is owed, then they have no choice but to just look for another job that would at least give them shelter someplace. Byleth can’t count the number of times she was told they’d be staying at an inn or in some noble’s estate, only to have to end up roughing it in the forest, without even so much as a basket of fruit to show for their efforts.

“But our reputation is worth more than the payment not guaranteed to us,” she continues. “Doesn’t matter if people like us or not on a personal level. As long as others know we’re doing what we’re told to do, then we’ll keep getting jobs.”

Claude remains quiet, still meeting her eyes.

“I have office hours,” Byleth says when the silence stretches too long, “so I need to get back to my room.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“We both have to leave so I can lock up, though.”

A smile returns to his face. The one that doesn’t meet his eyes. “You don’t trust me in here all by myself? I promise I’ll be good.”

“No, it’s the rules.”

Claude gives an amused huff. “Then I’m gonna head over to the dining hall; need to snag a spot for dinner later. You wanna come with?”

“I have office hours.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and gives a wave. “See you tomorrow then, Teach.”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


What greets her at her room isn’t a student, or even another professor. Instead she finds a sticky, gooey substance splattered all over the door. Yellow yolks and what seem to be fleshy chunks of something. The mix gives off a disgusting smell.

Fragments of eggshells dot the bushes nearby. There’s also a gutted fish laying there, some flies already enjoying their next meal.

_How horrible._

Sothis’ voice is unusually soft.

_I’ll clean it up._

_You should not have to in the first place._

_I guess I’m not doing my job well._

_Whether you are doing it well or not, you do not deserve this kind of treatment, Byleth._

_Maybe I should ask another professor for advice. Manuela seems nice. Need to get this smell out though._

She’s able to clean everything quickly since no one comes around asking for her help. Some of the passing students watch in curiosity as they head back to their rooms, but she pays them no mind. By the time she returns from tossing away the eggs and fish, the bell signals for dinner.

Byleth makes her way to the faculty building and catches her fellow professor outside the infirmary. It looks like she’s giving instructions to another healer. “Ms. Manuela.”

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise!” Manuela smiles at her. She quietly dismisses the woman she has been speaking to. “How has your first day been, Byleth?”

“I don’t think I’m doing a good job.”

“Aww, it’s always difficult the first few days. Don’t worry.”

“Even so, can I ask for some advice? Maybe as we eat dinner?”

“But of course! I was about to grab a bite myself. Let’s pick up something to eat and head back to my office.”

She listens to Manuela chat about her day. The Black Eagles students are mostly civilized, although she had to tell several of them (mainly Caspar) to use their indoor voices. Edelgard was a big help, standing in front of the class to almost demand they remain quiet at least until lunch.

“And after that, they all hushed in a snap,” she says as they return to her office with their dinner trays. It’s located right next door to the infirmary. “I think some of the boys even liked it. You could see it in their eyes.”

Manuela gestures to the tea table near the window. The only organized space in her office, from the looks of it. Books and dubious articles of clothing near her bedroom door are strewn about. There’s an empty bottle of liquor at the foot of the desk.

“Don’t mind the mess,” she says quickly. “But anyway, I’ve talked your ear off haven’t I?”

“You have things to say. I have functional ears.”

The woman snorts. “That you do. Would you like some tea with your meal? Any favorites?”

“Yes, thank you. And no, whatever you want is fine.”

Byleth doesn’t speak for a while. Partly because Manuela goes off on a tangent about tea and dates she’s had with men. Partly because she doesn’t want the food to get cold. The woman is half-way through her account of a rendezvous with a cheese merchant from town until she notices her guest’s silence.

“Oh, darn. I blabbered on again, didn’t I?” Manuela clicks her tongue. “Tell me what you need before it’s too late.”

“How do you handle your students?”

“Well I treat them with kindness, like all educators should. But when they’re being a pain in my side, I tell them they’ll get infirmary duty for a week. Staying in that room smelling of medicine and other chemicals, bucket at the ready if a patient vomits, or they need to help them use the latrines—well, for teenagers, you can see how that doesn’t sound all that fun.”

So she needs to punish them some other way instead of ripping up their papers. She could give them stable duty. Nobody wants to clean horse shit. Or have them pluck out weeds around the monastery.

“Do your students respect you?” Byleth asks.

“They better. There’s consequences for that too.” Manuela takes a sip of her tea. “Do your… students not respect you?”

She stares at her empty plate. “I think it’s my age they have an issue with.”

“Then use that to your advantage.”

“How?”

Manuela smirks. “You’re young. Beautiful. Tempt them to pay attention. Although it might only work on the boys, and maybe a few girls.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Weaponize your feminine charm.”

Byleth blinks. “Like spar with them while in my heels? I keep them on during combat already.”

“No, that’s…,” Manuela shakes her head. “Just watch what I do. I’ll show you some tricks.”

The things Byleth learns are in some violation of the instructor’s handbook, she’s sure. But at least she knows now why Manuela dresses the way she does. It’s worked for her without needing to use her ‘tricks’ to solve the attention issue. (The way she laughs about it though makes it sound like she doesn’t mind being ogled at all.)

“Thank you for the advice,” Byleth says, standing up from her seat. “I’ll give it a try soon.”

“Do let me know if it’s effective,” replies Manuela, walking her to the door. “And come by to chat any time you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth gives it a few more days before resorting to Manuela’s methods. They’re the same as the first day, except no brew of egg and fish guts is thrown at her door. But some students actively refuse to pay attention, doodling on their lecture notes or not answering questions when she calls on them. The only glaring difference is that the head count gets smaller and smaller as the days go by until more than half of the seats are empty.

She finds out from her more well-behaved pupils that several of their peers transferred over to Block B and C. She can’t say she’s surprised.

Come Friday, Byleth figures it’s time to test if Manuela’s tactics will also work for her.

_This is not wise._

_I’m also a woman. It should be effective._

_I have a feeling it will not, in fact, be effective in the way you hope._

She ignores her mental companion and takes off her coat, draping it over her chair. Byleth spots a male student in an aisle seat who is folding a paper into some kind of shape. Eyes follow her as she sits on his table, startling him. She crosses one leg over the other, slowly. The black lace tights strain over her thigh.

“Am I boring you?” she asks in a low voice.

“Uh…”

Byleth leans in, close to his face. He leans away, cheeks growing red. “Do I need,” she leans closer, hair falling over her shoulders, “to force you to pay attention?” She lifts his chin with a finger.

The student gulps, face growing redder. Eyes dart to her chest (considerably close to him) then quickly back up to her face. “N-No, Professor. I…”

Claude coughs in the background. “Teach, hey I have a question about the stances you talked about when using axes. Can you draw it on the board again?”

“Oh.” _A question. Finally, a question. _She immediately slips off the table and walks over to the chalkboard. A stare is on her back as she walks, but she doesn’t bother to turn around. “So because an axe is generally heavier—”

For the rest of the morning, nobody disrupts her lessons. People still don’t answer questions, but at least they’re paying attention when she speaks. The students don’t rush out of the classroom for lunch like the previous days, although no one stays behind to ask her about the topics discussed either.

“I underestimated how new at this you are.”

Except Claude.

“During introductions, I mentioned I’ve never taught before,” she replies.

“Yeah, but teachers _usually_ don’t flirt with their students. Or at least, that blatantly. You were nearly on top of that guy. Didn’t strike you as someone who was into that.”

“I wasn’t flirting. I was trying to make him pay attention to the lesson.”

“Well,” Claude huffs, brows raised in disbelief, “he definitely noticed you after that. As did the student sitting next to him. His girlfriend.”

Oh.

_See, what did I tell you?!_

“Should I apologize?”

“Probably a smart idea. I doubt it’s gonna do much good with the girlfriend though. She sounded pissed walking out the door. Don’t be surprised if you get paid an oh so lovely visit from Seteth later.”

Seteth already doesn’t think highly of her. If that girl reports it to him, no doubt Byleth will get some kind of lecture about what she did. Maybe not penalized since it’s her first offense, but having no offense would be ideal.

_Rhea should have enlisted me as a knight._

Claude doesn’t stay after that. He wishes her good luck and promises to bring her flowers at her funeral once Seteth is done giving her the ‘Glare of Death’.

That luck runs out as soon as she walks back to the classroom with her lunch tray. Seteth is standing there at the door, hands behind his back as always. His brows are deeply furrowed, mouth pulled into a tight frown. When he sees her, it only gets deeper.

“Professor,” comes his clipped greeting. “Might I have a word with you?”

The silence is heavy when they’re in the room. She closes the doors behind them, but Seteth keeps them open. “I would not want people to get ideas in their heads.”

She doesn’t reply. Only sits down at her desk, food tray in front. “What can I do for you, Seteth?”

“As I was on my way to the dining hall,” he starts, “one of your students told me about an… _incident_ that occured this morning. She looked absolutely irate. Professor Byleth, you being the same age as many of the students here does not give you a pass on being inappropriate. You are still their instructor, and instructors do not make advances on their students. Is that clear?”

“I wasn’t trying to make advances on him.”

“Then do tell me what it is you were attempting to accomplish.”

“I just wanted him to pay attention to the lecture.”

“Well!” He gives her an incredulous smile—almost a sneer—shaking his head in disbelief. “Then I guess you were successful, according to his girlfriend. I will not divulge details of the account she gave me. There are some terms I do not wish to repeat.”

She stares down at her plate. Steam is still emitting from the bowl of gratin, but it’ll get cold if she doesn’t eat it soon. Byleth meets Seteth’s glare with a blank look. “I’ll apologize, and I won’t resort to methods like that again.”

“This is your first and only warning,” he replies in a stern tone. “Garreg Mach has a reputation to uphold. Should you refuse to conduct yourself in a professional manner, we will find other accommodations for you. That is all.”

He turns on his heel, the heavy doors slamming behind him.

Byleth eats her food in silence. She’s out of options, and she’s not really sure where to go from here. There’s always the choice to ask Claude for ideas; she _is _supposed to be communicating with the house leader after all. But it’s not his responsibility to maintain classroom control. She can’t ask another professor for advice either. What worked for Manuela didn’t work for her. Hanneman would probably result in the same failure.

She doesn’t need to involve Jeralt in this, either.

All she has is her intuition. Gut instinct. The only card she has left in her deck.

Lunch passes by in a blur and the students return to their seats. Byleth gives them all an hour of free study so she can figure out what it is she wants to say to them. How she should approach this. They won’t respect her if she’s too harsh, and she can’t get away with using other professors’ tactics. Even following the instructor’s handbook isn’t a guarantee for teaching a successful class. She needs to do this her way.

“Study hour is over,” she announces when the last grain of sand falls through the hourglass. “Time for a change of pace. Follow me, please.”

Curious whispers bubble around the room. Her students walk with her to the training grounds near the far side of the dormitories. Block B of the Golden Deer was supposed to be using it, but they’re spending their day hiking up and down the monastery’s trail for endurance training. She gets permission from the groundskeeper to use it meanwhile, and he leaves through the door to the building’s armory.

Everyone stands near the stairs as Byleth steps into the center of the ring. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits. “I don’t know why I was made a professor. You deserve someone more experienced to guide you in your studies.”

They don’t say anything, so she continues, “The professor who I replaced had fled during the mission Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude took last week. The one where they were attacked by bandits. He left them to die out of cowardice.”

Byleth unsheathes her sword. “But know that I will never let any of you die. You’re my students, and it’s my responsibility to protect you.”

The groundskeeper returns, and Byleth gives him a nod. He tosses a thick bundle of reeds at her that she slices in half mid-air. He tosses a few more in rapid succession and she cuts them all down before they can even reach within 10 feet of the students standing around in the shade.

“Being an ex-mercenary means I’m experienced in most melee weapons.” She turns back to the class to face their astonished expressions. “The ones I’m not, I will learn so you can learn. This includes magic. And I will learn them quickly. I promise.”

Still she’s regarded with silence, although none of them look upset. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone or make anyone uncomfortable.” She bows. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better in being a professor, and earn your respect.”

Byleth twirls the hilt of the sword in her hand. “For the remainder of the academic day, we’ll figure out which tools are best suited to you. I asked the groundskeeper to set up training dummies and bring out the training weapons. They’re all blunt ends so no one will hurt themselves.”

She gestures to the man setting up wooden posts filled with haystack dummies. A cart of weapons rests in a corner. “I wanted to start training next week so we had another day of learning the basics, but I’m a hands-on learner. And it’s more interesting to teach through example.”

Leonie is the first to speak up. “Does this mean we’ll be sparring with you? I have to after watching that display.”

“In due time, yes. For now, I want to see which weapons… ‘vibe’, with you.”

“Professor,” Hilda starts, rocking side to side, “I think it’s great you’re being flexible with your lesson plan. But unfortunately, I think I’ll just get in the way. I’m a delicate maiden, so fighting really isn’t for me.”

“Hilda, if you choose a weapon today—one that works with you instead of against you—I’ll let you eat in class next week. This goes for all of you. Those who don’t choose a weapon, no eating in class.”

Murmurs erupt from her little group of students (Raphael shouts a hearty “Yes!” at the bribe). “I prefer the sword,” she continues. “But not everyone likes to be that close to enemy range. Some might like the lance, or hit hard with an axe. Even hide from a safe distance to snipe with a bow. Knowing what weapons work with you will help me understand how to assist in your learning. Go on, choose one.”

The students hurriedly walk over to the weapons cart and begin chattering. A few ask her about magic casting. “Next week we’ll practice magic to see who has an affinity for it. For now, choose a melee weapon as a backup.”

Another few minutes, and the students are swinging or launching their weapons at the training dummies. Byleth walks around to observe, taking note of their stance and their breathing to see who needs adjustments with what. Some students actually call her over to ask about their techniques. Byleth demonstrates on the dummy in slow motion so they understand more efficient angles to swing or stab. She’ll adjust her pupils’ arms or correct their posture so they don’t injure themselves.

Every student, including the ones who had given her a hard time earlier in the week, smile after her instruction. “Thank you, Professor Byleth,” they say, and go back to practicing.

“You weren’t giving yourself enough credit before, Teach.”

Claude stands next to her near one of the pillars, observing as she does. “You figured out how to get them to listen to you. Even bowed to them in apology. Nice touch.”

“I was trying too hard to conform to what the faculty wants from me,” she starts. “I was also treating this—treating them like a job. But that was wrong. You’re all counting on me to guide you. Even if they don’t like me, I would want them to respect me. That won’t happen if I don’t return it. Simple as that.” Byleth looks at him. “I followed my gut instinct. This is the result.”

With a smirk, he comments, “So my advice was the one you took to heart over everyone else’s.” He puts a hand to his chest. “Teach, I’m touched. I have a feeling we’re gonna get along just fine.”

“That’s the goal. But you don’t get to skip out on training, Claude. The only reason I’m not making you go out there—for now—is because I already know what you can do with a bow. You’re good.”

“Aaah, so I get special treatment huh?” he asks, tone teasing.

“No. I just have a better gauge on your abilities. Next week you’ll be out here like everyone else.”

He pouts, but it quickly dissipates into a smile. “Alright. Won’t complain if it means I can dazzle everyone with my skills.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

Claude gives half a laugh, and crosses his arms. The smile doesn’t leave his face.

When the day is over and Byleth returns to her room, there’s a pot of yellow flowers at her doorstep. Attached is a note that merely says, ‘Thank you, Professor!’ No signature.

_It seems you have earned the respect of your students. Well done._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So FE likes to do this thing where the player unit is instantly liked by all the other characters. That's just not realistic to me. And I'm glad that FE3H remedied this a bit by making some characters not immediately warm up to Byleth, including the Lords. I tried to carry that over here to this chapter. With a resume that just says, "I know how to stab things", Byleth is a real fish out of water in the classroom. But she's trying.
> 
> No worries though. The students who threw that nasty brew at her door weren't our lovable set of eight fawns. But in a school filled with mostly snobby rich kids, what do you expect?
> 
> Get ready, 'cause the shippy scenes start in the upcoming installment. Hope you're excited.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth learns very quickly that she's out of her element in a classroom. The students are skeptical because of her young age, and most of them don't care to respect anything she says or does. Though Claude isn't a part of said group, his consistent (and rightful) line of questioning about her person only worsens the students' confidence in her. After some advice from Manuela that ends in failure upon application, Byleth realizes she needs to adapt in her own way. Demonstrating her melee skills in the training grounds and being honest about her new station does the trick. These are her students, and they shouldn't be treated like just another job to complete. For the remainder of the year, she'll do her best to learn exactly what that entails.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ V ⧽  
  
Prelude

**_19th of the Great Tree Moon, 1180 _**━

Ever since her little speech of sincerity, Byleth’s class no longer causes her trouble. She sort of wishes she had more frequent use of the training grounds though. Rhea had announced that at the end of the month, her students are to partake in a mock battle against the other two houses on the outskirts of Garreg Mach. When she brought up her concerns over class size within the blocks, Seteth clarified the mock battle is divided in three groups to keep the skill level even. Block C will go first on one day, then Block B on another, and finally Block A.

Byleth ends up changing her lesson plan to focus more on battle tactics than history or economic policy. At least for this month. She’s gotten a better grasp on which weapons each of her students are decent at, although she feels like a few of them might have an innate efficiency for others. Something for her to think about later.

As she gathers her lecture notes for the new day, there’s a knock on her bedroom door. She finds a young boy standing there, maybe about 14 or so. Dark curly hair and warm brown skin, she thinks she’s seen him doing odd jobs around the monastery.

“Mornin’ Professor,” he greets.

“Good morning. What can I do for you…?”

“Cyril. And nothing for me. Just came to give ya this.” It’s a bundle wrapped up in brown paper. She takes it, wondering what it could be. “Seteth sent me to hand it over. Well, better get back to work. I’ll see ya around, Professor.”

She slips back into the privacy of her room, unwrapping the package. It’s a set of clothes. A uniform, much like the ones the female students wear, except with silver accents instead of gold. A note is attached:

> _Professor, _
> 
> _I am pleased to hear the moods of your students have improved. As you know, not only are instructors expected to behave themselves in a proper manner, they are also to abide by a dress code. We did not have an appropriate size for you when you first arrived, but Manuela suggested measurements. If they do not fit, please talk to her about it so we may have it tailored for your comfort. _
> 
> _Seteth_

The ensemble consists of a uniform blazer with three large buttons on each side in the center, a skirt reaching mid-thigh, long white socks, a short cape, and a pink headband. There are also some gloves, but she tosses those aside. Gloves are too constricting. The rest of the uniform fits her well and doesn’t itch against her skin.

_You look younger wearing this. It suits you._

Byleth adjusts the headband at the mirror. It’s about the only colorful thing in her new outfit. She sort of wishes she could at least keep her shorts, but the skirt is comfortable. The socks are very soft too. Probably her favorite part of her new outfit. They’re a little snug when she puts on her ankle boots.

_I don’t know what was wrong with my original outfit._

_Think of it as a reflection of a new chapter in your life._

On her way to the academy, she gets more stares than usual. Both from the students still roaming about, as well as the knights and other members of the church. Does her uniform look worse than her armor? She supposes it doesn’t matter. If it doesn’t impede her teaching, then she doesn’t care.

“Sorry I’m late,” she apologizes, walking into the Golden Deer classroom. “Won’t happen again.”

For a split second, he mistakes her as a transfer student. But no, standing there at the chalkboard is their Teach, apparently having missed the surprised looks on everyone’s faces. Just one thing after another with her.

A mercenary close to his age. Except she doesn’t know how long she’s lived. He’d estimate around 19 years, give or take. He doubts Jeralt would tell him if he asked. The man looks like the type to make a hit list of every boy asking about his daughter for any reason.

Claude isn’t ready to die just yet.

“Professor,” starts Hilda, ten minutes into the beginning of class, “you look _so_ cute today. Skirts are definitely working for you. That other outfit just wasn’t cutting it.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Hilda,” Byleth replies, without turning around from writing on the board. “Seteth said I should wear this.”

“_Oh_, I didn’t know he was interested in things like that. Who would’ve thought?”

Lysithea clicks her tongue. “Professor Byleth didn’t mean it like that. It’s part of the dress code. The faculty has to adhere to it too.”

“She’s correct,” Byleth confirms, still not looking at them. “Although I don’t see what’s wrong with my original outfit. Professor Manuela can dress however she wants. I thought I could too.”

“Ah, she’s been teaching here longer,” Ignatz notes. “Maybe that’s why?”

Some students look at him as if he’s stupid. Oh, little Ignatz. That boy is too innocent for his own good.

“Regardless of the reason, it doesn’t matter,” Lorenz speaks up. “We are here to receive an education, so let us not further waste our professor’s time.”

Byleth doesn’t respond. Only continues to write down her notes on the chalkboard.

That’s probably the strangest thing about her. Her face is always neutral. She never gets angry, never looks sad, doesn’t even smile. (She doesn’t laugh at his jokes, either.) Even when Claude had heard some of his classmates defaced her bedroom door with eggs and fish guts, she never brought it up. Never tried to catch the culprits or punish the whole class as a result.

Does she even feel anything at all?

Truly a mystery that is begging to be solved.

The morning passes on as usual. Byleth goes over more battle tactics and says they’ll practice a few at the end of the week. They don’t have much time left before the mock battle, and she wants everyone to be prepared.

Although not all attention is on the board. Some eyes keep wandering to her legs. Maybe she should’ve kept those horrendous lace tights on. Fashion is something low on his priorities list, but even Claude has to admit those things aren’t the smartest choice with that form fitting armor.

“We’ll pick this up after lunch,” Byleth says when the bell tolls sometime later. “Don’t be late.”

The students wish their professor a good break and stream out of the room. Byleth moves to erase the chalkboard, but then shakes her head with a small, “No”, and leaves the duster on its perch.

“You’re not hungry, Claude?” she asks when he’s the only one left in the room.

“Just waiting for you.”

“Do you have a question?”

“Nope. I retain information like a sponge. But,” he strolls over to her desk, “I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch together? You’re always eating in here alone.”

“Every day the dining hall is crowded,” she says, heading toward the door. He follows.

“Luckily, humans have adapted to eat in places that aren’t tables. So, what do you say, Teach? We can go over some of those tactics you talked about.”

She only nods.

The dining hall is bustling as usual. Students mingle together, both within their own houses and out. Some choose to sit inside, and others take their trays to hang around outside the building. Claude gets a favorite dish, pheasant roast with berry sauce, and Byleth just opts for a small serving of vegetable stew.

He escorts her outside to a bench facing the pond. They don’t talk for the first few minutes. Byleth keeps her eyes on the water, mechanically blowing on her spoonful of potatoes and carrots.

“You like soup?” Claude asks to kill the silence.

“It’s simple. Easy to make.” She slips the steaming spoon in her mouth without blinking. “Doesn’t cost a lot.”

“With that attitude, I’m surprised you don’t get along with Leonie more. If you want coin pincher tips, she’s your gal.” Claude takes another bite of pheasant. “But the food here’s free. That’s why we’re paying that insane tuition.” Every day since she became their instructor, the classroom always smells of some kind of broth after lunch. Even on days he didn’t know they were serving soup. “You never thought about trying anything else?”

Byleth continues to stare ahead of her. “Soup was our staple as mercenaries.”

“So you’re eating it for nostalgic reasons?”

She stares down at her bowl, nearly empty. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know why you keeping eating soup?”

Her silence has him perplexed. More so when she continues to stare off into the distance after the last of the broth is gone from her bowl. She doesn’t even swat away the lone fly crawling around the interior of her bowl.

Alright, things about Byleth he’s learned so far:

One, she doesn’t know her own age.

Two, she’s almost mechanical in how she expresses emotions. Or lack thereof.

Three, she apparently has no preferences for anything, from clothing to food.

Well, maybe if he offered some harmless fact about himself, she’ll be inclined to do the same. She’s intrigued him even more with an absence of… everything, that makes one a person. The intangible aspects at least.

_One might even play with the thought that you’re not entirely human._

“Pheasant’s tasty,” Claude starts, “especially this one with berry sauce. You ever had it?”

Finally she looks at him, but still gives a wordless reply of shaking her head. He continues with a smile, “Wanna taste it? You might like it. Soup’s good and all, but expanding your horizons can’t hurt.” Claude cuts a piece of pheasant and hovers the fork in front of her face. “It has berry saaauce,” he tempts. “Preeetty good!”

Before he can even pull away, Byleth eats the sample straight from the fork, unflinching. He _was_ going to just give her the fork so she can feed herself. Hopefully no one saw that. The last thing he needs is gossip. Her being student-aged is already the talk of the monastery.

He can’t complain though. Not when he notices the slightest (so slight) hike of her eyebrows as she chews.

“What’s this dish called?” she asks.

“Pheasant roast with berry sauce. Why? You like it?”

“It’s good.”

Claude breaks out into a grin. “Aaah, so there _are_ things besides soup that you li—”

“Are you going to finish it?”

Yeah he was, but he’s enjoying this reaction too much to resist the temptation of seeing more. He hands over the food. “Be my guest, Teach.”

She cleans the plate in record time. Claude knows that being a mercenary isn’t the fanciest job, but they should’ve had at least different things to eat besides soup. Unless they also hunted for their meals and didn’t have any cuisine like the ones served here at Garreg Mach. The way she’s eating it, he has to wonder just how much they had to ration their money and supplies.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” he comments when she’s done. “Hey, I have an idea. How about from now on, every day you get something different to eat at lunch? Dinner too.” Really he’s only suggesting it so he can gauge her capacity for reactions. But who knows. Maybe she’ll find something she actually likes other than hot water with dead plants in it.

“Why?”

“So you can try out the full menu the dining hall has to offer.”

“Will you join me?”

The way she says it, in a tone that hints at something less than monotonous, actually makes him pause. “I mean, I’ll try. But I can’t hog up all of your time. Lots of students will probably wanna eat with you as the days go by.”

“Like who?”

“Yeah,” comes a voice he really doesn’t want to hear right now, “like who?”

Claude does his best to keep the composed smile on his face as Jeralt stands there. He’s eyeing him with a sharp look, and it’s only then Claude notices he’s sitting a little closer to Byleth than he initially was. To Jeralt, this probably looks suspicious. A special brand of suspicious only a father with a daughter can feel.

And Claude _really_ doesn’t want to get on that hit list.

“Captain Jeralt,” he greets, scooting away. “Afternoon!”

“Hello, Father.”

“You kids having fun?”

“We were eating lunch,” Byleth replies simply. “I had soup, but then he gave me a taste of his.”

Jeralt crosses his arms. “A taste of his what?”

It’s getting more difficult to keep the smile on his face. But fathers can smell fear in these kind of situations. Claude isn’t going to give him any more evidence than he already thinks he has.

“Pheasant roast with berry sauce,” Claude clarifies, tone calm. “It’s pretty tasty. Teach told me she only ever eats soup, so I thought, hey, why not let her try it? She might like it and wanna look into other dishes. Expand her palate.”

“Right, you’re the Riegan kid.” Jeralt waves an index finger at him, as if recalling a memory. “The one who calls her, ‘Teach’. The only one to call her that, in fact. She’s told me about you.”

“Aww shucks, little ol’ me? I’m flattered.”

“Is that right?”

Now sounds like a great time to make a strategic retreat from a potentially dangerous situation. If it worked with the bandits, surely it’ll work here. Probably.

Whether because the universe is taking pity on him, or because she likes to see him suffer (the more likely reason), Claude spots Hilda a few feet away, grinning behind a hand. Either way, he has his exit strategy now.

“Darn. I just remembered.” He points with both of his thumbs in her direction, rising out of his seat. “My friend Hilda is waiting for me over there. I promised I’d help her finish up some accessories she was working on, and lunch is almost over.”

Claude shrugs. “I gotta go, but this was a nice chat, Captain Jeralt. I feel like I know you a little better now.” He _definitely_ has a hit list somewhere. “Enjoy your lunch with your kid. I’ll see you in class, Teach.”

He barely hears her good bye before he walks (a little faster than normal) toward Hilda. Jeralt’s eyes burn a hole in his back, but he doesn’t dare check in fear that the man will warp right in front of him when he turns back around.

“That was hard to watch,” Hilda says, trying not to laugh. “Not even two weeks they’ve been here, and Jeralt is already giving you the stink eye. Maybe, if you didn’t feed the professor, you could’ve avoided this.”

“He saw that?”

“Anyone who was passing by did. Myself included.”

Claude gives her a look. “And you just stood here. Watching. Knowing the danger that was to befall me, and yet refused to give me a head’s up. Also, clarification.” His fists rest at his hips. “I wasn’t trying to feed her. I meant to give her the fork and instead she ate it just like that.”

“Oh,” Hilda covers her mouth with dainty manicured hands, still grinning, “is that what happened?”

“It’s 100% the truth. No other intentions behind it. Anyway,” he turns her around by the shoulders and begins to direct her away from the pond, toward the marketplace, “I told Jeralt I’d be busy helping you with your accessories so let’s make it look like I’m doing just that.”

Hilda actually laughs this time.

Byleth watches her students turn the corner at the far side of the pond. She doesn’t know why Claude left so abruptly. If he had to help Hilda with something, he could’ve just said so instead of staying with her for lunch.

“That boy,” Jeralt mumbles, taking Claude’s previous seat, “he smiles too much. I don’t like it. Seems like a wiseass, too. But I guess I’d prefer him hanging around than that lady-killer I’ve heard about.”

“Sylvain isn’t in my class.”

“Good.”

Sothis chuckles.

_Why are you laughing?_

_Oh nothing, nothing. Your father is just… well, I suppose he is just acting as a father would with a daughter. An only child, at that._

“You ready for the mock battle at the end of the month?” Jeralt asks.

“I want more time in the training grounds,” she replies. “But I have to share it with the other house blocks. I was told that starting next month we can go on practice battles out in the field. Just wish that was now instead of eventually.”

“Better that way. You have time to nail it into those kids’ heads about the do’s and don’ts of combat. How’re they doing on that front?”

“I’ve been able to assess which weapons best suit them. Some are really good at magic, like Lysithea. But I do think many of my students have a hidden talent somewhere. I just need to figure it out; it’ll be advantageous the sooner I can.”

“Sounds like your first two weeks of teaching were successful.”

“My students respect me now, so yes.”

“Now?”

Oh, right. She hadn’t mentioned the eggs and fish guts to Jeralt. Byleth hadn’t gotten much time to spend with him since they got here, mainly because he’s always busy with something. Dinner, and sometimes lunch, are really the only chances she gets to be alone with him.

“It had to do with my age,” Byleth starts, recounting how her pupils were cheating or actively not paying attention. Hesitantly, she mentions the incident at her door. Jeralt’s stare hardens, but she quickly brushes it off as having been dealt with. Her students pay attention now, ask her for tutoring, or stay behind class if they have questions.

“You could’ve told me, By,” he says, tone calm.

“You’re busy with the Knights of Seiros. Besides, I handled it myself without much trouble.”

Jeralt sighs, brows furrowing in frustration. “Some of these noble brats, I swear.” His expression relaxes after a few moments. Turning to her, he points out, “Ironic they listen now since you look exactly like a student wearing that.”

Byleth stares down at her ensemble. “Seteth said I need to dress appropriately.”

“And where’s Seteth looking for him to make that conclusion?”

Sothis laughs this time.

“Hilda said I look cute with this on. Mentioned to me in class that my old outfit wasn’t working. But I think I looked okay. It wasn’t hindering my duties as a professor, so I don’t know why I needed to change. Professor Manuela can wear whatever she wants.”

“Manuela… has tenure, probably. You’re a long way from that, By. If you’re required to follow the dress code, then I’ll give you some money so you can buy a few monastery-approved outfits in the marketplace.”

“That’s okay, Father.”

“No, I want to. I can actually afford to give you stuff now.”

“I don’t need material things. Never held it against you. I had food to eat, and somewhere to sleep, even if we never stood in one place for too long.”

Jeralt smiles at that. “I know. But this is where we’re living now, so, money’s not as tight.”

_Listen to your father. You do not own anything except for this uniform and your armor. It would do you well to have at least a few outfits when a couple need washing._

“I don’t even know what to look for,” she admits aloud.

“Have one of your students give you help. This Sunday you’re free, right?”

“Yeah. I do all my lesson planning on Saturdays since they’re optional class days.”

“Well, then I’ll give you some money tomorrow. The marketplace should have at least a few stalls with clothes.”

The bell tolls again, signaling the end of the lunch hour. Students are picking up their things and heading back in the direction of the academy. Jeralt leans his hands on his knees, standing up. “Guess that’s all the time we have today. I might be able to see you at dinner, but don’t hold me to it. There’s always something new Rhea finds for me to do. Her, or Alois. And I’m his boss.”

“Okay, Father. I’ll see you when I see you.”

He gives her a smile and a comforting hand to her shoulder. “Later, kiddo,” and then walks back into the dining hall.

Byleth returns the trays she was left with before heading back to class. Some of her students are sleepy, but they do try to pay attention in the remaining two hours of the school day. She reviews the things they have learned and gives them a pop quiz. Only 10 questions this time. A few groans here and there, but nobody makes trouble.

After class, she asks Hilda to stay behind. Claude teases her as he walks out, “Oooh, someone’s in trooouble,” grinning wide and turning on his heel before Hilda can slap him on the arm.

“Professor Byleth,” she starts, giving a pout, “did I do something wrong? I was paying attention today. You saw, right?”

“It’s not about your conduct in class. I have a favor to ask.”

Hilda tilts her head to the side. “Oh, Professor, you’re great and everything, but I’m not really someone who does ‘favors’. In any shape or form. I’m not at all reliable when it comes to things like that, y’know.”

“Ah, I see. I was going to ask if you would come with me to the marketplace on Sunday. Someone suggested that I should look into buying a few more outfits since this is all I own.” She gestures to her blazer and skirt. “I’ll find someone else to—”

“_But_ I do make exceptions! Especially for you, Professor!” Hilda clasps her hands together. “Shopping is my area of expertise! I already have a few ideas in mind of what’ll look super cute on you. We’ll have to get accessories, and maybe a few perfumes—ooh, makeup too!”

“I just need new outfits. Not anything extra.”

“Extra?” Hilda shakes her head. “Oh, you poor thing. But I guess being a mercenary for so long doesn’t allow you to care for stuff like this. Don’t worry, Professor. You just leave it to me! Well,” she snags her satchel off the table, “gotta go! Need to get started.”

“On what?”

“On looking for which shops offer the best stuff! I’ll see you later!”

She skips away, humming a tune to herself.

_I wonder if this was a good idea._

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Sunday morning comes in the blink of an eye. Byleth is an early riser, although she doubts Hilda is. That’ll give her about an hour or so to herself. She hasn’t really had a chance to look at the greenhouse yet. Apparently they have a lot of rare plants and flowers that have all kinds of uses. On her way back from class yesterday, Dedue had asked her for a gardening favor. Just planting some vegetable seeds so he could make her a meal as a thank you for rescuing Dimitri.

Byleth isn’t going to say ‘no’ to a free meal. That, and Dedue mentioned people eye him suspiciously every time he goes into the greenhouse. She doesn’t know why; he didn’t explain.

The greenhouse keeper is there when she arrives. The keeper smiles, asking if she needs to do some planting. Byleth shows her the seeds and the woman directs her to an empty plot in one of the smaller planters.

Moving around a lot as a mercenary didn’t allow for things like keeping a garden. She hopes being here will teach her how to care for plants. An invaluable skill, for sure. Maybe she should read up on agricultural practices in the library.

“Professor?”

She turns around and finds Ashe standing there. He’s holding a ceramic pot with soil in it.

“Ashe, good morning,” she greets. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Good morning! And I like to help the gardener tend to the plants,” he replies with a smile. “There are a lot of them in here, and I figure she could use some help. On some days, it gets too many visitors for her and she gets distracted watching everyone to really care for plants like normal.”

“Do you like gardening?”

He nods. “I do! My father, Lord Lonato, is great with plants. I like learning about them, and got pretty happy when I learned I could use the greenhouse to plant some of my own things. I don’t exactly have a green thumb, but I do try!”

Ashe kneels down next to her where she’s poking a hole in the soil. The pot he carries is set off to the side. “Are you here to do some gardening of your own?”

“Dedue gave me some seeds to plant,” she replies. “They’re going to grow into vegetables. He insists on making me a meal for rescuing Dimitri. Not that I mind.” She looks to him. “I’ve never gardened before, but I have a basic understanding of how it works. I just plop the seeds in here, right?”

“Yes. You’ll want to make sure they’re deep enough in the soil. And,” he pokes a few more holes with his thumb next to the one she made, “you put one in each instead of all of them together. May I?” he asks, holding out his hand.

She pours the seeds in his palm. Ashe drops one into each of the holes, using his hand to cover them with a new layer of soil. “They should be ready in about a week,” he informs. “The plants in this greenhouse grow super fast because of the type of soil they use here. It’s magic-infused, I’ve been told, and mixed with other things to make the plants grow healthy and strong.”

He goes up to a wooden cabinet nearby and procures a watering can. “Don’t give them too much,” he sprinkles just enough of it over the plot, “otherwise they won’t grow properly. You might drown them.” He moves on to the pot he brought in earlier. “I’m growing some flowers myself. I wanted to have them in my room next to the windowsill.”

The smile on his face is fond as he talks about the kinds of flowers he hopes to grow throughout the year. His goal is to have a row of plants in his room where the sunbeams can warm them. It helps him focus on his studies if he has plants around.

“I’m sorry,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle. “I talked your ear off, didn’t I? And so early in the day too.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s good that you’re passionate about something. I don’t mind listening to you; your voice is gentle.”

Ashe looks at her, surprised, and then turns back to the plants. A shy smile is on his face, freckled cheeks growing red. “Th-Thank you, Professor. Um…!” He stands abruptly, setting the pot in an empty space on a wooden plant display with three tiers. Some of the pots have names written on them. This must be where students leave their own gardening projects.

“Thank you for showing me some basics,” Byleth says, walking over to him. “While I’m here at the monastery, I’d like to learn as much as I can. Gardening is a crucial skill for survival. You know more about it than I do. Would you teach me now and again?”

“Me? You want me to teach you?”

Byleth nods. “Yes. Just because I’m a professor doesn’t mean I can’t learn from the students. If you don’t want to, though, I understand. I wouldn’t want to waste your time—”

“No! No no! I’d be happy to help you!” His face is redder for some reason. “Just let me know when you’d like to learn more.”

“How about Sunday mornings? Probably not every Sunday, but maybe twice a month, if that works for you.”

“Oh, y-yes of course! That sounds good. Do you want to start today?”

“Actually I’m waiting for Hilda. We’re going to run errands in the marketplace. But she’s probably still asleep, so I’m kind of just wandering around.”

Pausing, Ashe glances off to the side, and then back at her. “Well, the dining hall should be open by now. I don’t mind keeping you company while you wait for her. Maybe we can eat breakfast meanwhile?”

“Good idea.”

The dining hall in the mornings usually isn’t as crowded as during lunch and dinner. Especially on Sundays when most students choose to sleep in. But there are a few knights and some of the clergy spread out around the tables.

Keeping in mind what Claude had said the other day, Byleth chooses something other than soup. (Nothing wrong with soup; she’ll switch back every other day.) Although it’s more like she asks Ashe for suggestions on what she should get. She’s not picky; all she wants is to eat.

They end up getting the same thing: some eggs and fluffy pancakes with a small bowl of fruit on the side. It comes with either a container of jam or syrup. She doesn’t know which tastes better, so she asks Ashe to pick one. It’ll be fine either way. (He chooses the jam.)

They sit across from each other at one of the center tables. Ashe smiles at her as she eats. “Do you like it?”

“It’s good,” she says, scarfing down the pancakes. “I’ve never had these before coming here.”

“Pancakes? Really?” She nods, taking another bite. Ashe eats a bit of his own food before asking again, “What did you eat as a mercenary? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Fish. Wild game. Eggs if we found enough. Mushrooms that weren’t poisonous. Stuff that could be made quickly and without too much trouble.” She takes another bite of the pancake. “Soup when we found an inn to stay at.”

“Ah, so you hunted a lot?”

Byleth nods again, still chewing. “Foraged too.”

“Wow, I never knew.” Ashe finishes the rest of the pancake, moving onto the eggs. “The monastery has a lot of nice dishes. I hope you find some food that you like here.”

“Mm,” Byleth plops a grape into her mouth, “yeah, I think I’ll find a few the more I try. I heard that students and faculty can use the kitchens too for cooking, so that’s something I’m going to look into as well.”

“Oh, if you want I can—,” he stops himself short, shaking his head, “ah, n-no, you’re already busy as it is.”

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind!”

His cheeks are pink again. Byleth blinks once at him before going back to her food. Ashe gets quiet after that, not looking at her.

_This is interesting._

_You’re awake._

_A ‘good morning, Sothis’ is much more polite._

_Good morning, Sothis._

_Well now it does not sound genuine after I have told you to say it._

Byleth doesn’t respond; merely gobbles down her eggs. Sothis sighs. She wonders what her mind companion found so interesting, but she’s more interested in finishing this food before Hilda wakes up. Sothis begins to tell her, but it’s cut off when a familiar voice sing-songs its way to their table.

_Oh, no not him!_

“Ashe, morning!” greets Sylvain. “How’re the flowers coming along?”

“I watered them and set the pot in the greenhouse,” he replies. “They should be ready by the end of the week.”

“Nice. Can’t wait to see them. By the way, is that girl here from yesterday? The one with the brown hair? She usually eats breakfast first thing and I wanted to—,” it’s then he notices Byleth, and a grin breaks out on his face, “oh, _Professor_, good morning.” He sits down next to her, leaning forward. One leg is on either side of the bench seat. “Get enough beauty sleep?”

“I get regular sleep.”

“You’re right; how foolish of me. Someone as naturally beautiful as you doesn’t need it.” He plucks a strawberry from Ashe’s fruit bowl. The other boy only shakes his head. “Sooo, today’s our free day. You have any plans?”

“Going to the marketplace with Hilda. Just waiting for her to wake up.”

“She’ll be down soon. Heard her rummaging around as I passed by her room earlier. The rest of your day booked?”

“No. That’s it.”

“Well then,” he scoots closer, “how about you and I take a stroll in the gardens later? We could have lunch under the gazebo. Maybe make a trip to town. Ashe can’t keep you all to himself.”

“I-I wasn’t!” Ashe defends. “I’m not trying to keep—!” His face turns pink again. “I just happened to run into her at the greenhouse. And wanted to keep her company while she waits for Hilda.”

“Then mind if I join in?” Sylvain eats the strawberry slowly, his eyes never leaving Byleth’s stare. “A girl like yourself looks out of place all alone.” He scoots closer, still smiling. “Why don’t you and I get a head start and go to the marketplace? We can wait for Hilda there.”

“I’m fine here, thanks. I want to finish my food.”

“You sure?” Two of his fingers walk across the table, closer to her plate. Closer to where her hand rests on the surface. “I seriously wouldn’t mind keeping you company.”

“Sylvain,” Ashe whispers, looking over the boy’s shoulder. His eyes widen at whatever he’s staring at. “_Sylvain!_”

“After all,” the taller boy ignores him, “we’re in different houses, and you’re so busy that it’s hard to find time for you and I to chat.” He draws a swirl shape near her thumb. “You’re still settling in, right? I can give you an in-depth tour of the monastery. Maybe show you some secret spots if,” he leans in closer, fingers brushing against her own. Ashe’s face pales as he glances up behind them, smiling nervously and going back to his meal, “you ever need to be alone.”

A mug of coffee is slammed onto the table next to Sylvain. He jumps and turns to his right, eyes widening when Jeralt stares him down.

“I must be getting old,” he starts in his gruff voice, taking a seat beside him, “because I could’ve sworn I saw your hand getting a little cozy with my kid’s. My imagination though, right? Eyesight’s probably bad.”

“C-Captain Jeralt! Sir!” Sylvain tries to stand but bangs his knee on the underside of the table. He curses between his teeth, and hops off the bench. “Good morning, sir! How are you? Wake up alright?”

“Yeah,” he says, then takes a sip of his coffee, “good enough that I reckon I could break someone’s arm off with my bare hands.”

“I’m absolutely sure you can! In fact, I don’t even want to think about it!” he replies with a smile, looking for somewhere to put his hands. He rests them behind his head. “Well, was just saying hi to the professor here.” He gives a nervous, half-hearted chuckle. “But I think I’ll go on my way. You probably wanna have breakfast with your precious daughter.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. So get lost, lover boy.”

“Right, right of course! Ashe, let’s go check on those plants, yeah?”

“But I’m not finished with—”

“Listen to your friend, kid,” Jeralt tells him.

Ashe doesn’t say anything, only nods quickly, his face still pale. “It was nice chatting with you, Professor. I’ll see you later. And um, have a good morning, Captain Jeralt.” He gives a smile but quickly walks away with his tray. She thinks she hears Ashe scold Sylvain, but they’re too far across the dining hall for her to know for sure.

Jeralt’s sigh is deep. He takes another drink of his coffee, staring straight ahead.

“You’re not going to get breakfast?” Byleth asks. “You can have some of mine.” She slides her tray over to him. “Or whatever’s left of it.”

“Nah. Just gonna grab something quick before going back to the office.” He turns to her, a frown on his face. Her father is quiet for a good several minutes. Not that she minds. She’s used to quiet time with him. Sometimes in front of the campfire, sometimes when they’re fishing in a nearby river for the group’s next meal.

But he’s never stared so long at her with a frown like that.

“Haven’t been here even a full month,” he starts, “and already trouble’s ahead.” She doesn’t reply right away, and so he turns his attention to the mug.

“What do you mean? Everything’s been fine so far.”

“You’ve never interacted with people around your age,” he clarifies. “And I’m not used to them interacting with you either. Here, they’re everywhere. Although it’s good in some ways, it’s bad in others.”

“Like how?”

Jeralt rubs a hand over his face. “Bunch of horny teen—ah, I’m not ready to have this conversation with you. Never thought I would ever have to. I will, at some point; just too damn early in the day for it now. Your mother might’ve been better at…” He frowns, staring at the table. It’s naturally etched with age from the tree it was made out of.

“Be wise around the boys,” is what he says. “_All_ of them. Even the ones who look harmless, like that freckled kid.”

“Ashe is nice,” she says plainly. “Dimitri spoke highly of him.”

“Mind that junior prince too. Like I said, _all_ boys, even the nice ones. From your house and the others.”

Sothis gives an amused hum.

_Your father is not entirely incorrect. However, he should expect this to happen, considering the circumstances. He cannot hide you from any feelings you may have in the future, good or bad._

_What’re you talking about?_

_Oh, I do not have the energy to start this conversation with you either. I think I shall sleep a while longer after all._

The girl yawns, and then all is silent in her mind.

Byleth finishes her breakfast as Jeralt sips on his coffee every so often. They stare ahead, not looking at each other. When the dining hall becomes noisier, he speaks again. “It’ll be a good thing to have friends around your age, both girls and… boys. Just pick them well. Promise me that?”

“Can a professor even be friends with their students?”

A smile finally appears on his face. “As long as it doesn’t affect the way you grade them, I don’t see the problem. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to have happened so far, if you ask me. But not everyone would agree, so be mindful of it. Anyway,” he rises from his seat, taking another long swig of the coffee, “gotta get back to the ol’ grind. You still going shopping with what’s her name? The one with all the pink.”

“Hilda, and yes. I’m just waiting for her to finish getting ready. Claude told me she’s very lazy, so I’ll still be waiting for a few more minutes, probably.”

Jeralt grunts. “Well, have fun. Don’t get anything expensive so you can buy as much as possible with that money.”

“Of course. I’ll see you later, Father.”

He only ruffles her hair before walking out of the hall. Byleth files her father’s words away at the back of her mind, wondering if she’ll ever really need to reference them at all in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude's first POV! Yay! For those asking about the Blue Lions characters, I hope this chapter put a smile on your faces. There's more to come too. This story will primarily focus on the fawns, but the cubs are my second group of precious little beans.
> 
> Normally, I find daughters with overprotective fathers to be cliche (and outdated), but Jeralt is an exception for me. Considering all that's happened in canon, he has good reason to hold onto Byleth just a little tighter while back in the monastery. For matters other than boys. Tough luck though, Jeralt. Your daughter's a knockout and people have eyes. Like parent like child with those good genes.
> 
> While I'm on the topic, if you guys have suggestions for scenes between Byleth and the cast, feel free to let me know! I already have some in the works. But like I said, I don't have an outline, so any help to evenly pace this story is greatly appreciated. Lol
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Claude takes some time to get to know Byleth during their lunch hour. He deems her a mystery, having a lack of visible emotions and preferences for basic daily pleasures like food or clothing. He doesn't get much out of her though, preferring to make a smooth getaway when Jeralt thinks he has other intentions. Later in the week, Byleth spends some time with Ashe, who often gets shy around her, and Sylvain makes the mistake of showing physical interest in her with Jeralt close by. Byleth isn't sure why her father is so suspicious around the boys who interact with her, but she doubts his cautionary advice will ever have any use in the future.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ VI ⧽  
  
A Small Victory

**_30th of the Great Tree Moon, 1180 _**━

The week leading up to the mock battle is spent reviewing tactics and an overview of the field. Byleth had been so absorbed in trying to prepare everyone that she hadn’t even bothered to wear any of the new outfits Hilda helped her pick out. A mix of casual wear and variations of the student uniform, from pants, dresses, and blouses to skirts, shorts, and blazers. She even had enough to buy some new undergarments and three pairs of boots.

Hilda’s consistent pout during lectures hinted she was a little upset about her efforts having nothing to show, so Byleth promised she’d start wearing them after they won.

“_When_ we win? You mean, ‘if’.”

“No. When, because we will. I won’t have us lose, I promise.”

It’s a little challenging trying to prepare her small class of 15, though. Block A of the Black Eagles and the Blue Lions both have at least twice as many more students. When she had brought up this concern to Seteth, he had replied, “Professor Byleth, did you think you would be sending all of your students into this mock battle?”

“Aren’t I?”

“No. There will be a larger-scale practice battle later in the year where all of them will participate. For now, each house only sends out a handful to keep it fair. This is simply a minuscule sampling of their progress under your tutelage. Choose wisely on who will be your best combatants. The others will be spectators.”

She wishes she had been told that much sooner. But, she supposes it doesn’t really matter. All of her students she’s trained equally, just in case a scenario like this happened.

Early Tuesday morning on the 30th, all three houses from Block A make the trek to the outskirts of Garreg Mach. The battle shouldn’t take more than an hour, but Seteth mentioned they’ll go over time if they must.

“Okay.” Byleth motions her students around in a circle. “After reviewing all your progress from this month, I’ve decided on who will participate. This is a very small scale mock battle, so I can only pick four of you.” All of their attention is focused on her. Some nervous faces, others staring so hard at her she’s sure they’re hoping to be picked, and the rest are glancing around the tent. 

“Hilda.”

The girl groans. “Professooor.”

“You’re good with an axe and nimble on your feet. Next, Leonie. You’ve improved in such a short time. No one can get close to you when you’re wielding a lance.”

Leonie does a fist pump in the air. “I won’t let you down, Professor. I _will_ win.”

“Professor,” Lorenz starts with a calm smile, “not that I am questioning your methods, but I would also be beneficial to this little trial. The marks I have received show I am well suited for—”

“In our practice runs, you rushed ahead in the formation, ignoring Claude’s orders to wait. Then you got hit with Lysithea’s magic when she was on the opposing side.” Lorenz sputters. “You didn’t take into account of ranged attackers using your blind spot against you. And ignoring your commander’s orders—whether you personally like them or not—is very dangerous in a real situation.”

The boy frowns. Claude doesn’t say anything; merely gives Lorenz a cheeky grin. “You will have more opportunities to practice, Lorenz,” Byleth comforts.

“Very well. I understand,” is all he says, then falls silent.

Byleth looks to the rest of her pupils. “Ignatz.”

His eyes go wide, pointing to himself. “M-Me?! But I’m not ready!”

“That’s why you’re going. Ignatz, whether you realized it or not, you hit your mark eight times out of ten. And we can’t just have melee units in our group. We need someone to watch their backs, and you’ve got a sharp eye for detail.”

“I don’t—not that I’m trying to say you’re wrong or anything,” he says, looking down at his shoes, “but I really don’t think I should… at least not—I just don’t feel I’m….”

He fidgets with his hands. Ignatz gives a glance up at her and then quickly looks away, adjusting his glasses. “If you’re really that uncomfortable about it,” Byleth says, “then I won’t send you out. We can’t have you getting nervous and hesitating. It’s fine.”

“I’m really sorry, Professor.”

“Don’t apologize. We’ll build up your confidence gradually so you can be ready for combat. I’ll pick someone else.”

Lysithea bounces on her heels, trying her best to stay still. Byleth knows she’s eager to prove herself, maybe more than Leonie. But she’s not ready yet. Similar to Ignatz, Lysithea hesitates when others rush at her, not sure who to strike first and ends up hurting herself blasting magic so close. It’s something Byleth will need to work on with her, and the last thing she wants is Lysithea to get discouraged by making a mistake on this first battle.

“Marianne. Every formation should have at least one healer. Currently, you have the strongest affinity for white magic.”

Her quietest pupil gives a small gasp, and looks down at the ground. “Um… okay, I suppose….”

Some of her other students are looking away now, probably suspecting they won’t get chosen. Raphael raises his hand, waving it wildly in the back of the group. He’s strong. Very strong. Even with training gauntlets, he might seriously injure one of the other students. Maybe later they’ll be ready to face him, but for now, he still needs practice on gauging his own strength.

As much as her class has grown under her instruction, there’s really only one person who has the charisma to convince them all to at least pretend they like each other enough to work together. Hopefully.

“Claude.”

“Saving the best for last,” he says with his signature smirk. “I like your style, Teach. Of course, I already knew you were gonna pick me. I do have the best marks when it comes to pure skill alone.”

“That is _not_ true,” Lysithea immediately retorts. “Professor, do you really need Claude there? You could pick somebody else. Many of us are capable. Especially some of us in particular.”

“It’s a requirement the house leader is part of the formation.”

“Ouch.” Claude puts a hand to his chest, frown a bit too dramatic. “That hurts, it really does.”

“Anyway,” her dismissive reply has Lorenz smiling, “I don’t know who we’ll be facing. Edelgard and Dimitri will be part of the enemy formations for sure, so watch out for them. No doubt both Professor Manuela and Professor Hanneman will send out their best, or the ones who are the most tactfully advantageous.”

Byleth places five pins on the small map of the practice field. “Even if you’re not participating in this battle,” she lines up the pins, three in front, two behind, “I expect you all to pay attention and take notes. Everyone in this class will get a chance to prove themselves to me and your peers as the year progresses.”

She dismisses the students except those participating. With them, she goes over possible routes to defeat both sides without much casualty. There are too many students in the other two houses for her to give an accurate estimate of what’s to come, so she just prepares their formations based on potential weapon types that they might find.

For sure, they’ll have at least one ranged attacker, and one who is better at close combat. “With this in mind,” she adjusts the pins, “Hilda, Leonie, and I will be front-line offense. Claude, your job is to watch our backs.”

“And what a lovely backside you have, Teach. I’ll definitely be keeping my eyes on it.”

She gives him a blank stare. Leonie scrunches her nose and Hilda rolls her eyes. Marianne keeps her focus on the map.

“Moving on.” Byleth looks to the quiet member of their group. “Marianne, you’ll stay somewhere in the rear as well. All of us will try our best not to get too hurt, but if we do, you’ll be coming to our aid. Claude will cover you since you haven’t gotten the hang of that Nosferatu spell yet.”

Leonie holds up a hand. “Hold on, Professor. Our defense is almost entirely relying on Claude. He has to protect _all _of us?”

“He’s the only ranged unit in this formation, so yes.”

“Afraid I’ll show you up?” Claude smiles, crossing his arms. “It’s fine; I get it. I’d be nervous too if I were you. It’s not easy knowing just one person is capable of carrying the whole team.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” she says, pointing to him. “I don’t need you to watch me. And you’re not going to carry this whole team.”

“That’s right,” Byleth starts. “We need to work—”

“_I’ll_ be doing that.”

Maybe Byleth won’t be wearing those outfits anytime soon after all.

She hopes for a bit of luck as they stand in the field. No matter who she would’ve chosen, she has a feeling they wouldn’t sync well this early in the year. So much for Claude saying they’re not as difficult as the other houses.

In the distance, she spots Manuela and Hanneman on opposite sides the furthest away from everyone. Perhaps they don’t intend to fight until the last second. She doesn’t feel the same. Watching her students from yards away won’t do her much good. She’ll need to be front and center to direct them with orders in case they falter.

That, and she’ll be a last resort if one of the other students try to take out her own.

From the Black Eagles side, Edelgard stands with Dorothea near a fenced off cluster of bushes. Hubert is further away from them but closer to Byleth’s group. Ferdinand is at the front, already in a fighting stance with his lance. On the other side, Mercedes hangs at the rear. Dedue is at the front, as expected. Dimitri isn’t too far behind, and Ashe is standing nearby a grouping of trees, bow in hand.

As Seteth announces the rules, Byleth assesses the biggest threats of her opponents. It’ll be better to take out Edelgard’s side first. None of Byleth’s currently deployed students have a good resistance to magic, and Hubert is smiling in that unsettling way of his. Marianne is their only chance, but she’s needed as support. Hilda could probably take him out quickly.

Dedue looks imposing with his axe, but she knows he’s just decoy. Dimitri is standing too close to him for her comfort. She’s seen what he can do with a lance. If anyone approaches, he’ll just rush from the side and swipe them away. Claude is her best bet here, but he’s needed for cover.

_I guess I’ll have to deal with him, then._

“You have approximately one hour,” Seteth calls from where everyone else is spectating. “Do your best. Time has begun!”

“Leonie,” Byleth starts as Ferdinand rushes toward them, “you’re in charge of dealing with him. But don’t get into range of Hubert. It won’t be pretty otherwise.”

“Gotcha, Professor.” She keeps a tight grip on her lance, grinning. “I can take this guy.”

Forward she goes, giving a shout. Ferdinand comes to a screeching halt as Leonie swipes her lance his way. She manages to dodge most of his strikes, but the few that do land a hit, she hits back twice as hard.

A padded arrow strikes her in the shoulder. Leonie grunts and turns around, narrowing her eyes at Ashe who is partially hiding behind a tree.

“No, Leonie!” Byleth calls. “Don’t get distracted!”

Ferdinand slams the side of his lance against her and she falls. He moves in to deal a finishing strike until he gets hit in the chest with a padded arrow. Claude stands next to a tree, arm back, another arrow notched in his bow.

Leonie scrambles for her lance and slams it against Ferdinand’s legs, swiping him off his feet. She knocks his weapon away and plants a boot on his chest, pointing the tip of the blade at his face.

“New plan,” Byleth says to Hilda. “You’re going after Ashe.”

“But he’s all the way over there,” she whines.

“Both sides are attacking us at once. We have to deal with the long range threats immediately.” Byleth leans in, a hand on Hilda’s shoulder. “I want to wear those outfits you helped me pick.”

Sighing, Hilda trudges forward. “Fiiine, but only because I don’t want your clothes to collect dust.” Her smile returns as she skips over to Ashe. Then she takes off on a sprint, axe firmly held to the side with both hands. Ashe fumbles notching another arrow in his bow. By the time he takes aim, Hilda is already within range.

He yells as she swats him twice with it, shielding himself with his bow. Her second strike breaks it in half. Hilda looks to Byleth and strikes a cute pose, “Hilda! Behind you!” and then twirls around just in time to dodge a heavy blow from Dedue.

“Got it,” is all Claude says, launching an arrow at the large boy with a high-aimed shot.

On the other side, Leonie gives a cry as she jumps back, her arm grazed by Hubert’s magic. Marianne has to go out there, but maybe that’s what Hubert wants. Nothing more dangerous than their only medical relief being taken out early.

But if she doesn’t get aid, she’ll fall.

“Marianne, go heal Leonie.”

“I… um… y-yes!” She runs over, dodging the attacks Hubert throws at her.

“Claude, you watch out for them. I have to go protect Hilda.”

“Already ahead of you, Teach,” he says, launching three arrows in succession at Hubert. The dark mage directs his blasts to them, but misses the last one and gets hit in the shoulder. The distraction is enough to give Marianne time to heal Leonie. Claude shoots another arrow and Leonie rushes up to Hubert from his left, knocking the blunt end of her lance into his side. She then swings low, knocking him off his feet.

Hubert glares when he’s hit with another arrow while he’s down. “I’m already out, you fool,” he says to Claude as Byleth runs past him toward the other side.

“You can never be too sure with the undead.”

She hears the smirk in Claude’s voice.

“Uh, a little help? Please?!” Hilda cries, dodging Dedue’s attacks. She yelps as his axe hits the tree, some of the bark scraping off. “_Professor!_”

From behind, Byleth strikes her sword in his back and he stumbles, but not nearly far enough. She moves in for another one, but a rush of footsteps in the grass have her swerving around. She barely misses the strike from Dimitri’s lance.

“Sorry, Professor,” he apologizes, “but with Ashe out of the group, I have to double my efforts. My mistake. I should’ve,” another swipe, “had Dedue closer to him.”

“Here’s a tip,” Byleth replies, blocking another swing with her sword. “Never send your archers to the front lines. Rookie mistake, Dimitri.”

Even while trying to strike and jab at her, he manages to smile. “Thank you.” She blocks a blow from the lance with the blunt end of her sword. “But should you really be giving your opponent advice?”

“You may be my opponent now,” she hefts the sword and turns around, slipping the lance away from her and striking him in the shoulder, “but you’re still a student. There’s much for you to learn.”

Dimitri winces, hiking up his injured shoulder. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Then come at me. You won’t get better otherwise.”

“Understood.”

She continues to deflect the blows, only getting hit once in her left arm. With every step he pushes her further and further away from assisting Hilda. The girl’s pink bangs stick to her face as Dedue continues to try and strike her. He manages to snag the end of the training axe against her shoulder, ripping the fabric there. She gives a short, “Ouch!” in response.

“Apologies,” Dedue says as he continues to advance toward her anyway.

Hilda’s brow furrows, her jaw clenched. “You’re making me _work_,” she spits through gritted teeth, snapping through the handle of his axe with her own as he tries to land another blow. He stares at the two pieces, dumbfounded, and is then knocked over when she lands a particularly hard strike against his chest.

Seeing such a large boy topple backward because of a tiny girl like Hilda even has the latter looking surprised.

“Dedue!” cries Dimitri.

“Wrong,” is all Byleth says as she swipes her sword upward and disarms him. His lance hits the ground with a soft thud. Byleth strikes the edge of her sword into his abdomen and Dimitri stumbles, but doesn’t fall. She kicks away his weapon, pointing the sword to his nose.

“You’d be dead by now, Dimitri. If you’re too distracted by the safety of your allies, you won’t be paying attention to your own.”

He sighs, looking at the discarded lance flattening the blades of grass. “Sorry, Professor. I still have a lot of growing to do.”

“And you will, in due time.”

“Your Highness.” Dedue picks up the discarded lance. “Let’s head to the sidelines.”

Dimitri looks to the distance. Mercedes is hiding near a tree, trying to shoot Hilda with her bow. Hilda stays huddled behind a bush, panting as she wipes her hair away from her eyes. On the other side of the field, Leonie is doing her best to dodge Edelgard’s axe swings. Claude tries to shoot an arrow at the princess, but Dorothea launches a spell that grazes his side as he jumps out of the way. Marianne clutches her hands together against her chest, peeking out from her safe spot under the shade of a tree. She continuously glances between the battle before her, and Hilda hiding on the other side of the field.

Byleth has taken care of one threat, at least. But Hilda desperately needs healing, and Marianne is too close to the fray that she won’t be able to move over safely.

“Go get some rest,” is all she tells Dimitri and Dedue before she’s running to her students’ aid.

Dorothea sees her coming and launches a spell, but Byleth rolls out of the way and continues forward. “Marianne, go to Hilda before Mercedes gets too close. I’ll handle this.”

She only nods and scurries off as Hilda lightly suggests that she needs a break. Byleth hears her relieved cry of, “Marianne! Finally!”

“You must be something else to defeat Dimitri on your own,” Claude comments. He only has a few arrows left in the quiver.

“I have more experience, that’s all. What’s the situation?”

“Leonie’s taken a few hits, so I dunno how much longer she’ll last. Edelgard just keeps coming at her. And if we don’t deal with Danger Diva over there,” he reaches back for an arrow, “Leonie’s as good as gone.”

Through her time as a mercenary, she hasn’t had to deal with too many magic users. They’re a pain in the ass to fight because there’s no good way to defend against spells. Unless you have something to hide behind. The elemental spells are even worse. Not a good idea to use a wooden shield against a fireball, that’s for sure.

“Focus on Dorothea for now,” she tells Claude. “I’m going to help Leonie.”

“Make it fast,” he says, already advancing.

Byleth rushes forward just as Edelgard’s axe is about to strike Leonie in the leg. She blocks the blow with her sword. “Leonie, go help Claude.” The girl snags her lance from the ground and hurries to aid the house leader.

“So, you’re volunteering to be my new opponent.” Edelgard gives her an amused smile. “I saw how you handled Dimitri. Well done.”

“He’s only more inexperienced.”

“That’s true. You’ll find I’m not, however.”

Dodging another swing of the axe, Byleth parries with her sword. Edelgard is a lot faster and her steps lack hesitation. Her cold lavender eyes never leave Byleth’s face as she moves forward. She manages to strike Byleth twice. Her side stings, but the reward of reading the other’s attack patterns is worth the pain.

She bends backward missing another axe swing and slices her sword upward as Edelgard raises her arm for a consecutive blow. It hits her wrist and she winces, the axe tumbling to the ground. Byleth strikes three times in succession against her front, knocking her over.

“Edie!” Dorothea cries, running toward them. A magic spell glows in her hand.

“Ooh, big mistake,” Claude shouts, shooting an arrow at her leg. She trips over the grass and lands on her hands. Leonie sprints to her, lance aimed at her back.

“You can try to get up,” the girl says, “but I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“It’s alright, Dorothea.” Edelgard stands, dusting grass off of herself. “We weren’t prepared enough, and this is merely the consequence. Come, let’s go to the others.”

Leonie offers her hand to Dorothea. She stares at it for a second before taking the help. “Thanks.” Mercedes cries out on the other side of the field. Much like Ashe and Dedue, her weapon is broken in half. Hilda holds her axe behind her, a hand to her lips, maybe mumbling some kind of comment.

“Wow, Professor.” Dorothea stares ahead at the scene, then back to her. “You weren’t even over there and… wow. That’s all I can think to say.”

Edelgard drags the axe up from the ground. “You still have to deal with both Professor Manuela and Professor Hanneman. Don’t get carried away. You’re so close to victory; I’d hate to see you lose after all of that.”

“Go lick your wounds in the medic tent, your Imperialness.” Claude twirls an arrow between his fingers. “No need to worry about us.”

She gives him a hard stare. “Perhaps it’s best that Professor Byleth chose your class instead. You certainly have a lot to learn about everything I can think of right now.”

“C’mon, don’t get all sour on us. You just need to train harder, that’s all. Isn’t that right, Teach?”

“Don’t patronize them, Claude. But,” she wipes dirt off her sword against her thigh, “he’s not wrong. Keep up your training. That’s the only way you’ll get better.”

Edelgard doesn’t say anything. Only gives a hum before walking off with Dorothea.

Byleth, Claude, and Leonie rendezvous with Hilda and Marianne in time for some last minute healing. That’s all that’s left in the poor quiet girl though, gently mentioning she doesn’t have energy left for another restorative spell.

“We’ll make this count then, Marianne. Just don’t stray too far from us.”

Manuela and Hanneman are only troublesome because they don’t get any closer than they need to. This is probably one of the reasons they don’t rush in like their students did. Are they trying to assess Byleth from the safety of distance so they can find weak spots?

If they found any, they don’t show it. They also don’t work together. (But they sure do lob continuous insults at each other.) Combined with the adrenaline of dawning victory, Byleth and her small group of four manage to take them out on their last legs.

Seteth calls for the end of the mock battle, declaring the Golden Deer house as the winners. Her spectating students cheer. Hilda jumps up and down, chanting, “Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!”

“_All_ of us won,” Leonie reminds as they walk back to where everyone else is waiting for them.

“Y-Yes.” Marianne nods. “Um, I wasn’t much help, but the rest of you did great.”

“Are you kidding?” Hilda straps the axe back into its holster at her waist. “We would’ve been toast if you weren’t here, Marianne! You did such a good job healing us. A real darling; thank you sooo much.”

“You definitely did,” agrees Claude. “Every good team needs a good healer, and you were there to fill the role. But I think we all know who to really thank,” he says, glancing over at Byleth.

“Me, of course,” he says with a grin, eyes never leaving hers. “I really did carry this team with my improbable aiming skills.”

Leonie huffs. “The Professor had to cover your ass when you ran out of arrows. You would’ve been singed by Manuela’s fire spells otherwise.”

“You all did great,” Byleth says quickly. Exhaustion means she doesn’t want to deal with their bickering right now. “It was a little rocky at the start, but you managed to pull together when things were getting rough.”

“Alright, alright.” Claude holds his hands up in defense. “You were a ton of help too, Teach. Couldn’t have done it without you, and I mean that. If we keep working together like this, no doubt more victories are ahead of us. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

What sounds nice is a giant bowl of tomato soup with a side of cheesy garlic bread, but that’s probably rude to say.

Blades of grass and splotches of dirt stick to their uniforms, sweat drying on their skin. They’re probably going to be bruised in several places tomorrow. Even so, they continue to smile, and it bubbles up something in her chest. A heart attack? No, women experience heart attacks differently. Indigestion? Probably not that either.

She’s not sure what to call it, and asks Jeralt later when they sit down to dinner.

“You’re proud of them,” he says simply, tone light.

“Is that what this is?”

“Sounds like it.” He bites into his turkey drumstick, tearing the meat away from the bone. “They worked hard, from what I’ve heard the knights say. And none of the four were knocked out either. I dunno how you did it, but I’m not surprised. Wish I could’ve been there to see it, though.” He grumbles that last part under his breath.

“You trained me well.”

Jeralt smiles. “Yeah, I did. But give yourself some credit too, By. I don’t have the skills to teach a group of brats. They just got their feet wet when you had them spar, but they’re knee deep in the water now after today.”

Byleth slurps up her soup, already ripping apart the bread as she swallows. She was only doing her job training them the whole month so they were ready for the mock battle. Is this how she’s going to keep feeling when they do well?

Pride in another person. A group of people. People she’s responsible for. The warmth in her chest when she thinks of their smiling faces as a whole, laughing at their first taste of victory. Claude’s earlier question hums in her head.

_‘Doesn’t that sound nice?’_

It does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action/battle scenes, along with smut, aren't my forte. Ironic, because the former is a staple for FE fics in general, and the latter will be present waaay later in this story. (Yes, that means the rating will change when we get there.) But if I don't practice, I'll never get better. So let me know how I do with scenes like this!
> 
> I know a few people wanted a scene with Hilda and Byleth shopping, but I decided to exclude it because they're going to have another one later for a very special story event. You might be able to figure out when it's gonna happen. Hee hee.
> 
> I have a note I need to make: for continuing readers, I wanted to let you all know I made edits in earlier chapters concerning student body count. Originally I said there were 250 - 300 attending, but I changed that number to 500 - 550 and added an additional Block C. (Had to do math for this. Gross.) I just thought, "Y'know what, in real life there seems to be way more wealthy people than you would ever think could exist all at once, so it's probably not even weird if there's a whole load of them here in fantasy Europe too".
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to share this with you all. A lovely fellow reader, Cheriiu, made this adorable fanart from last chapter's scene where Byleth & Claude have lunch. It's super cute and I'm forever grateful! Here's the [Tumblr](https://blushbakery.tumblr.com/post/188496016674/) link, and the [Twitter](https://twitter.com/powdermeow/status/1186317257615577094) one if you guys wanna check it out! Again, thank you so much! ;w; 💕
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> The mock battle is Byleth's first shot at proving herself as an instructor to the rest of the monastery. Only able to pick four students—Hilda, Leonie, Marianne, and Claude—to fight alongside with, she keeps a close eye on her group as she simultaneously tries to fend off the larger threats like Dimitri and Edelgard. It gets a little hectic when both sides try to attack her at once, but her quick thinking and her students' willingness to adapt manages to secure them a victory. Their bright smiles and cheerful faces give her a sense of pride. It's sure to not be the last time she'll feel like this, either.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ VII ⧽  
  
Idle Fondness

**_5th of the Harpstring Moon, 1180 _**━

The Golden Deer weren’t the only ones pleased with having won their first mock battle.

On Saturday of that week, Byleth had been called to Rhea’s audience chamber for her class’ next assignment. Seteth was also there, as always. Apparently he reported to her about Byleth’s progress, and the archbishop had been very pleased at how quickly her class had grown.

So pleased, in fact, that Byleth was given her first mission as an instructor. On the 31st, she’s to take care of some bandits nearby in Zanado, also known as the Red Canyon. She knows very well what ‘to take care of’ means. Many nobles in the past have hired her father’s mercenaries for that very purpose.

But her students are not mercenaries. She had brought up the concern after Rhea had finished explaining all houses have monthly missions. They’re intended to assist with training in addition to building up a repertoire among the monastery and people of Fódlan.

“I can handle the kills,” Byleth had clarified at the end. “I just don’t know if they’re ready for actually taking lives. Even if they are bandits.”

“The students in the Officers Academy are being trained as knights,” replied Seteth. “I sympathize with your reservations, Professor, but it would be better if they understood the reality of their future careers sooner rather than later.”

“We have resources to provide emotional support and counseling,” Rhea comforted, “for this very reason. The positive to this scenario is that you already have experience in disposing of felons. We cannot let this group of bandits roam free and risk them terrorizing nearby villages.”

When Byleth hadn’t replied for a good minute, Rhea gave a gentle smile. “A small group of the Knights of Seiros will accompany you, should things go awry. But I doubt that you will need much assistance.”

_Then why don’t the knights just take care of it then_? she had thought, but figured it best to keep to herself.

She had put it out of her mind for that whole day, but today it creeps back to the forefront as she passes by some of her students in the library. The head chef in the dining hall had asked her earlier for assistance in locating some lost recipes, mentioning there might be a few up here.

Byleth so far has found three. She’s not sure where else she’s supposed to look. Despite only having two floors, the library is considerably large with clusters of bookshelves creating a benign maze of knowledge. She asks some of the clergy roaming around if they know where the cookbooks are at. They direct her to the librarian instead, an old man named Tomas.

He has droopy eyes and a friendly smile, the kind the elderly greet others with on the streets. He leans on his cane, finger tapping on the top of it as he thinks.

“Cookbooks should be on this first floor. Let’s take a look.” She follows his slow steps to a low shelf near some carts. “We’ve had a few of them checked out last week, but there should still be plenty enough to assist you. Ah, yes here.”

Tomas pulls out two volumes. One is titled, _Cuisine of Fódlan, _and the other is called, _Cooking Basics for the Novice_. “Would these do, Professor?”

“Actually, I’m running an errand for the head chef. Someone lost the recipes and she can’t train the new cooks without them.”

“Oh dear, well, then I will just write that she’ll be using them for the foreseeable future.” He removes the two paper slips from an interior pocket of the cover. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, that’s all. Thank you.”

He smiles, nodding. “If you’d like to check out books again, feel free to visit any time. I know of every single book in this library, including the ones Seteth had thrown out.”

“Seteth throws out the books?”

“Ones he doesn’t deem fit for the monastery or the students’ betterment. I can understand, but at the same time, I don’t think knowledge should be so constricted, no matter what kind of knowledge it may be. Educational or otherwise.” He gives a chuckle. “Although, I know in the marketplace they sell the genres of books Seteth throws out. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

What kind of books are so bad that Seteth would have to throw them out? There has to be some frivolous novels in this library and not just educational or resourceful texts. Or maybe he throws out raunchy tales. She can see why he would, but, students are going to get their hands on them in some way or another.

After delivering the books to the head chef, Byleth returns to her quarters. She’ll have to figure out a way to break the news to her class that they’ll be killing bandits at the end of the month. Sure, Leonie, Hilda, Claude, and Marianne did well in the mock battle, but that’s only four students out of 15 that have had minimal combat experience. She’ll have to ask the knights for some practice training. Maybe she can arrange something with Jeralt’s old crew.

_This is truly eating at you._

Sothis had been asleep during the mock battle, but the upside of her having to share a body with Byleth means she has access to all of her memories. It was easy enough for her to catch up on what she missed. And she had shared the same feeling of pride in a job well done for the class.

_They’ve never taken a life before. I would say Claude has come the closest, but even I don’t know if he actually killed the previous bandits when we first met. I think Edelgard did most of the slaughter._

_Perhaps this is not the correct phrasing, but, I think it is a good thing you are feeling this way._

_Why is it good? _

_You have only been here a month, and yet, already you care considerably for your students._

_I kinda have to; I’m getting paid money for this._

Sothis scoffs, the kind that means a lecture is coming.

_Of course I know that! But the sense of pride that blooms when your students do well, and your concern over their constitution when it comes to taking the life of another, that is something you cannot be paid to feel, with any amount of coin._

Pride. Concern. Being here at the monastery just keeps awakening feelings she’s never thought she was capable of having. Sure, there had been the occasional spark of happiness when traveling with Jeralt. Or eating a nice bowl of soup. But that’s as far as she’s ever felt anything that wasn’t… complacent with just existing.

As she steps onto the veranda of the first floor dormitories, her boot crunches something below. There’s some kind of list lying on the ground.

“Choir Sign-Ups?” she reads, squinting. Several names from all three houses are written down on here. Maybe it had been pinned to the wall and the wind blew it away, or someone accidentally brushed by it on their way out.

_The list appears full. Perhaps this is a sign to pay a visit to the cathedral to ease your doubts._

_I don’t believe in signs._

Sothis gives a loud, frustrated sigh.

_Just go, please. For my own sanity._

Byleth heads across the campus to the cathedral. It’s the only area with an extra gate that’s drawn up at dawn, and clamps down at curfew. She doesn’t know why a cathedral, a holy space of comfort, would need to be kept guarded.

Come to think of it, she hasn’t actually been here before.

The building is tall and wide, perhaps the largest structure in the entire monastery. Inside it’s even more magnificent. Several thick columns rest along the side aisles. High ceilings with ribbed vaulting are elaborately painted with scenes from the teachings of the goddess. The clerestory windows from up above draw in the sunlight. Large chandeliers add to the illumination, bathing the entire space in an ethereal glow. A pipe organ off to the side hums in the background. In the nave, two wide rows of pews stretch halfway in the space, stopping just before either side of both transepts.

There are two rooms with much lower ceilings near the altar. In the room to the right stand four statues. The placard notes them as saints. But they have no sheen to them, and are instead covered in grime. She wonders if anyone bothers to clean them. On the opposite end of the altar is the other room with one large, double-sided bronze door. Decorative flourishes are raised into the metal throughout both halves. An armored knight stands guard there, looking at her curiously.

Currently, there aren’t many people in the cathedral. Mostly monks and nuns, a few villagers, and a speckle of students. Some of them stand closer to the altar in prayer, while a few sit at the pews.

_The ability of man never ceases to amaze me. A structure of this size and girth should be impossible, and yet, your kind has made it a reality._

_Yeah, it’s a neat building._

_Do take the time to appreciate the smaller things in life, Byleth._

She ignores Sothis and asks around about the choir. One of the monks points her to a nun flipping through a book at the right side of the pews.

“Excuse me,” she starts, holding out the sheet, “but I found this near the dormitories. I didn’t know what to do with it, but I thought maybe I should bring it here.”

“Oh! Thank you.” The nun smiles at her, smoothing out the creases of the paper. “I was actually going to collect this later.” She tucks it away in her book. “You’re the new professor, right? Have any of your students signed up for choir this month?”

“I don’t actually know. I didn’t check.”

“Ah, well, every month we have a different set of students helping with the choir, but anyone can practice here, including the faculty. And don’t worry if you’re not a good singer. The important thing is that we’re all taking time to honor the goddess.”

Byleth stares off at a pair of students whispering to each other. One of them sniffles while the other rubs their back with a hand, a sympathetic look on their face.

“Some of the clergy are troubled that the students might not care much to learn the goddess’ teachings,” the nun says after a pause. “It’s not a surprise, really. The majority who board here do so just for the academy, not to enlighten themselves. But sometimes they wander into the cathedral of their own volition. I’d say it brings a smile to my face, but, I’m sure most of them are praying for healing for something that’s truly bothering them. I can’t be happy when they’re troubled like that.”

“Does it help? Prayer, I mean.”

“For me, yes. But everyone else copes with difficulties in their own ways. I can’t definitively say praying helps the students, but I’d like to think it alleviates their pain somewhat. Not all students have someone to talk to, and many grow homesick. It’s my hope the goddess can embrace them with reassurance that things will be alright.”

Byleth has never prayed for anything before. She didn’t even know of the goddess until just recently (Jeralt told her to keep this fact from Rhea). But if it doesn’t always help the students, then there has to be some other way they can get things off their mind without wondering if they’ll ever get a response.

“Is something troubling you, Professor?” the nun asks with a frown. “You look deep in thought.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Well, alright then. If you ever need some time with the goddess, the cathedral is open during most hours of the day and night.”

“Thanks,” is all she thinks to say before leaving.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Living at the monastery, she’s noticed two things. One, there is an insane amount of dogs and cats roaming about, for whatever reason. Not that she’s complaining; it’s just odd. And no one seems to mind either. She’ll catch everyone from students, to the knights, and even the clergy either feeding them scraps or playing with them. Sometimes the animals approach her, but she never has anything to offer them.

_Maybe I should carry snacks in my pockets after all. Seteth isn’t my father; he can’t tell me what to do._

And two, the monastery residents have a chronic problem of losing things. Byleth will find the oddest of objects just left out in the open, from worn jackets to a horse’s hairbrush. If she finds something, she’ll ask around if it belongs to anyone, but she almost always ends up just storing it in one specific cabinet of her bedroom. 

As she passes through the dormitory’s exterior floor, she sees two balls of yarn with the knitting needles still stuck in them. A cat lying on a crate is eyeing them from afar, but it most likely belongs to someone.

Picking it up, Byleth dusts it free of dirt and tiny twigs. It’s a little dirty, but probably still useful. She’s not really sure who it belongs to, and no one is around to ask. Until she remembers there’s one person in particular who stays holed up in their room almost daily.

“Bernadetta,” she starts, knocking on the girl’s door.

From inside comes a shriek, then, “I-I’m not eating cake! Nope! There’s absolutely no cake in here!” Something falls, and shatters. It sounds like porcelain, or clay. “Aww, man! I wasn’t finished with that! Good going, Bernie. You always screw everything up….”

“I just wanted to ask if this is yours.”

“Wh… What is it?”

“Two balls of yarn and some sewing needles. They were outside your door, so I thought—”

“Shoot! Those are mine!” Bernadetta whines. “You can, um, leave them there, Professor.”

She begins to shake her head, then realizes the other girl wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. “I’d rather give them to you now so nothing happens to them.”

“No, r-really it’s fine. You can leave them by the door!”

When Byleth doesn’t move, Bernadetta speaks again. “…You’re still there, aren’t you?”

“I also have this piece of cake here I happened to snag from the dining hall.” A lie, and not a very good one. But the timid girl’s reclusive behavior isn’t healthy. From what she’s seen, Bernadetta has no friends. And she’s also not keen on interacting with anyone. Though Byleth has a duty to her Deer, it wouldn’t hurt to help out other students when she can.

Plus, she’d like it if Bernadetta grew out of finding Byleth scary. She’ll never forget how terrified she looked at that first encounter.

“Cake?” The door slowly opens. Bernadetta peeks through the small slit, frowning. “Oh, you lied to me. Why would you do that…? That’s cruel….”

Her pout and downcast eyes makes her feel bad for some reason. Maybe it was a little mean, but cruel? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.

And yet…

“Later I’ll bring you a piece of cake,” she says in apology. Byleth hands over the yarn, and Bernadetta snatches it away, holding it close to her chest. “What flavor of cake do you like?”

She’s quiet, staring at her shoes. Then, in a soft voice, replies, “Chocolate is good. The one with, um, the strawberries on top, and vanilla icing. Oh, um… i-if the cake has banana slices in the layers too, then…”

“Okay, I’ll get it for you. I’ll try to find the biggest slice.”

Bernadetta bites her lip, still not looking at her. “You’re going through all this trouble for me, and it’s all my fault. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you cruel or complain or—please don’t be mad!” She makes a strangled noise, shutting her door. “I’m sorry, Professor! J-Just forget about the cake! I don’t need it!”

The lock clicks, and Byleth figures the girl doesn’t want to talk to her any more than that. Maybe she should leave her alone for a while, and come back later. Really, it’s not a big deal to get her a slice of cake.

But being that it’s late afternoon and not yet dinner time, Byleth takes a trip to the large pond near the greenhouse. She spends a good long while just staring at the water, waiting for a bite. When she first heard about it as part of the facilities anyone can use, she’s cut in a little bit of time every week to relax here. Her father was supposed to join her today, but he got caught up in other things.

Well, there’s always dinner. She can surprise him with anything she catches.

“You look like you’re having fun.”

Byleth glances over her shoulder to find Claude standing there. He has a book tucked under his arm. “It’s something to do.”

“Don’t sound so excited, Teach,” he replies with a smile. “Mind if I sit?”

She scoots over to the side, closer to her empty bucket of hopes for fish. Claude sits down, one leg propped up while the other dangles over the edge of the wooden platform. He doesn’t say anything; simply continues reading the book where he had folded the corner of a page.

“Heard something interesting from the students who transferred out from our block,” he says after a while of silence. “They said when they asked to transfer back in, you declined, even when they had permission from their professor. They sounded disappointed.”

“My class is fine as is.”

“Can’t say I disagree, yeah. But can I guess why you said no?”

Byleth gives a single-shouldered shrug. Claude taps his chin with a finger. “After our mock battle, all the houses were talking about how you handled leading us out there. About how we were able to take on two of them simultaneously, even with our limited experience. Block B and C weren’t there to witness, but I’m sure the students who were exaggerated a little bit.”

Claude flips another page of his book. “A professor our age of little words, yet seemingly a reservoir of combat knowledge despite her youth. You won your first battle with us, even though you have zero teaching experience. Or social experience for that matter, no offense.”

“I can’t be offended if it’s true.”

He grins at that. “Regardless, you somehow managed to instill confidence in your class, even the students who didn’t participate. We grew pretty fast in only a month under your guidance. I can see why others want that kind of progress. But you turned them down, ignoring the fact they were originally a part of Block A’s roster.”

There’s still no bite from the line. Byleth wonders how long she’s been fishing here. Maybe she should’ve brought an hourglass.

“You didn’t re-add them because they didn’t give you a fair chance since day one.”

Byleth brings the line back up. Somehow the bait slipped off. “I was told that to be any kind of instructor, you need to have patience. Everyone learns at their own pace, including me.” She takes a piece of bait from the small box near her thigh, puncturing it on the hook. “Teaching is a mutual experience. I adapt to the students’ learning styles, and they adapt to my instruction. Those who left wanted results without putting in the time for patience.”

She casts the line back in the water. “Were they to rejoin now, they wouldn’t have that patience you all do when it comes to me. If the fairness isn’t mutual, then I can’t spend my time on that when others who stayed need it more.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying I’m right.” He flips another page, falling silent as he reads, but only for a moment. “You know students from other houses can join one they don’t belong to, right?”

Byleth looks at him. “Why would they want to? Doesn’t being in a house mean that’s where your allegiance lies?”

“Not necessarily, but also yes.” He continues when she doesn’t say anything still. “It’s not always so literal as to say you decided to align yourself with a house that isn’t your own. Sometimes students just like the teaching method of that professor and want to grow under their instruction.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Which is why I’m giving you this head’s up.”

“Head’s up for what?”

Claude shuts his book closed with one hand. “I’ve heard whispers here and there about some students of other houses considering joining ours. Not that I care either way; more helping hands for the Deer when we have mock battles.”

“I’m glad for you.”

He gives a laugh. “They’ll be doing it for you, Teach! I don’t think you realize the power of your influence.”

“But I’m not doing anything. Just my job.”

Shaking his head, he gives a silent sigh. “Well if that’s how you see it, keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. But don’t be surprised if you suddenly have influential noble kids wanting to join us because of you.”

Byleth stares at the water. She barely got used to leading 15 students on her own. Now there’s the possibility that more would want to join. Students from prestigious families who, if something were to happen to them, would lead to consequences. For her, for her other students, Garreg Mach Monastery itself, and possibly even the Leicester Alliance.

That’s a lot of responsibility with no chapter in the manual on how deal with it.

Her father has done well leading his mercenary group, though. At any time in his career, he had led at least 30 men, taking good care to keep them all alive for as long as possible. Maybe she’ll follow in his footsteps, although to a much smaller degree.

But, would her students be prepared to take a life? She has a feeling this won’t be the only mission with that completion requirement.

“Rhea gave me our class’s first assignment,” she tells Claude, not looking his way. “It’s at the end of the month. Dealing with bandits.”

“Oh? So we’re going out in the field already, huh?”

She looks at him, holding eye contact. “Are you prepared to take a life, Claude?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Only meets her stare. Expression composed, he replies, “If that’s the objective of this mission—which I’m sure it is—then yeah. This must be normal for you though.”

Byleth adjusts her grip on the fishing rod. “It doesn’t get easier taking lives. But sometimes it’s necessary. My father had told me the moment I feel nothing when taking a life, is the moment I need to call it quits.”

“Have you reached that point?”

She shakes her head.

Claude falls silent again, watching her line make light ripples in the water. “Personally, if things can be talked out, that’s the option I’ll always take first. Senseless violence never brings anything good. But not everyone is an upstanding citizen, and I’d rather the ones who are to stay safe.”

“Will you be okay after the fact?”

That smug grin spreads on his face. He glances at her. “No need to be worried about me, Teach. I can handle anything thrown my way. But thanks for being concerned about your favorite student.”

“You’re not my favorite.”

He fakes a hurt gasp, then smiles again. “It’s alright. I won’t tell anyone,” he says with a wink. “Although, I’m curious to see Lysithea’s reaction if she happened to_ accidentally_ overhear such a fact. Or maybe Lorenz.”

“No, Claude. It’s not a fact. Professors are strongly discouraged from having favorites.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to be the exception.”

She jerks her attention to the fishing line when she feels something tugging on it. Byleth stands, pulling it forward. With a swing, she hoists the line out of the water, finding a large carp thrashing at the end.

“Hey, you got one! Nice job.” Claude joins her, holding the bucket out. “How long did that take?”

Byleth unhooks the fish and tosses it into the bucket. “I lost track of time.” 

“Oof. You’ve been out here that long?”

The sun is low in the sky now. Pretty soon it’ll be colored by pinks and oranges with the cathedral bell gonging for the dinner hour. If she wants this fish cooked before the kitchen gets busy, she ought to do it now.

Something rubs against her leg.

A cat, the same one who had been eyeing the yarn hours earlier, wraps around her ankle. It meows, staring up at her with large green eyes. It’s a shorthair breed with brown fur.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” Claude comments. He kneels down, making little clicking noises with his tongue to catch its attention, gesturing with his fingers for it to come closer. The cat turns to him, sniffs his fingers, then walks away. “Rude.”

“I think it’s more interested in this.” Byleth reaches into the bucket, pulling up the fish by the tail. The cat stands to attention, focused stare never leaving the glimmering scales.

“And you’re just gonna give it what it wants?”

Byleth cuts off the fish head with her dagger, and then drops it on the ground. The cat leaps on it, beginning to nibble on the exposed flesh.

“Wow. You’d spoil a cat you just met, but you won’t even admit I’m your favorite student. A student who you’ve already gone through two battles with, by the way.”

“Once again, you’re not my favorite. Besides,” she tosses the fish head into the pond, “this cat could use it more than me. I don’t know if it’s eaten yet.”

Claude hums, watching as the cat fights with two others trying to steal some of its meal. “Thinking like that, you won’t always have enough to feed every cat that gives you big soft kitty eyes. Your pockets can only carry so much food, Teach. And some of that fish should be for you; you’re the one who caught it.”

She shrugs. “There’s more to catch. And if not, I’ll just eat something else.” Byleth washes off her bloodied hand with the pond water. She kneels next to Claude afterward, watching the three felines finish up the decapitated fish. It’s nothing but bones now with some stringy pieces of flesh left on it.

The other two cats leave, but the brown one stays. It blinks at her, walking over her way. Giving another meow, it rubs up against her leg. “I don’t have any more food for you,” she says to it. “That was my only fish.” Whether the cat understands, she’ll never know. But it does purr as it continues to press its furry body against her. Byleth can’t help but pet it, and the purring gets louder.

“It really likes you.” Claude reaches out to touch it, but it pays him no mind. “Seriously, you’re rude. I’m trying to give you free pets, and you don’t want ‘em.”

Byleth sits down, and the cat hops into her lap. It settles itself there, still purring. She scratches it in-between its ears, and it closes its eyes. On the right side of its face, an uneven tuft of fur sticks out.

She blinks. Looks at the cat lounging on her lap. Then she looks at Claude, who’s pouting at it. She blinks again.

“This cat is you,” she states.

“Come again?”

“It reminds me of you. Look at it.”

He clicks his tongue. “This rude little bloody-fish-eater reminds you of me? I know I said you were a little socially inept, but c’mon. I really meant no offense when I said that.”

Byleth ignores him, still scratching the cat between its ears. It continues to purr, eyes still closed. She knows animals don’t have facial expressions, but if she had to gander a guess, she’d suppose it’s quite content with its life as it is in this moment.

“Yeah, it just talks less,” she adds.

Claude pouts again, but not a second later does a smirk slowly stretch onto his lips. He scoots closer to her side, his form casting a shadow over the cat. The animal doesn’t move from its spot.

“I’d also talk less,” he starts, “if I had my head scratched. And I’d purr oh so happily too,” he says in a lower tone, leaning slightly into her space, “just for you, Teach. I’d even let you scratch me under my chin if you so wanted.”

She looks him straight in the eyes. “This cat is now my favorite student. I’ve decided.”

“Seriously?!” He leans away, crossing his arms. Glaring at it, he says, “You won this round, Kitty Claude. But mark my words, one day, I’ll be the one having the last meow.”

It only gives a yawn, before flopping on its side in Byleth’s lap. The tip of its tail twitches. She doesn’t know what that means, but she guesses it must be content at the very least. Claude huffs at it, and returns to reading his book. After a while, the cat slinks off of her lap, stretching, before sauntering over to the boy next to her.

Claude gives it a side-eyed glance. The cat meows softly. It settles at his side where the long coattails of his blazer pool on the ground. Gently, he strokes its head, and the cat closes its eyes again. Only when it starts purring does he comment, “Oh, you sly little creature. You know exactly what to do to make people give you head scratches. I can respect that.”

The book is set down off to the side as he brings the cat into his lap. It meows again, tail still hooked at the end. When it notices his braid dangling from the side of his head, the cat reaches up with a lazy paw to try and swat it. Claude chuckles, watching as its reaching gets progressively more eager, using both of its paws now.

For whatever reason, Byleth can’t shush away her thoughts of how cute this looks. Good thing Sothis is busy napping. (Is there a way to lock her out of her memories?)

“Hey, Teach.”

She meets Claude’s eyes. Again he studies her face. “The mission will go fine.” His voice is calm as he gently squishes the cat’s paw with the tips of his fingers. “Can’t guarantee that some of the class won’t be affected by what’ll happen, but they’ll make it through one way or another.”

Byleth stares at the fish blood residue off to the side, unsure of how to respond. She wants to believe him, and wants to hope he’s right.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


When dinner comes around, Jeralt doesn’t show; she ends up dining with Claude instead. Lysithea sees them from across the dining hall and joins them. Byleth goes over some points of last Friday’s lecture with her when she asks. For once Claude doesn’t comment on anything; only listens, occasionally flipping through his book when he looks uninterested. 

Later, when she’s said her good byes to her two students, Byleth carries a slice of chocolate cake to the dormitories.

“Bernadetta,” she starts, knocking gently on her door with the back of her knuckles, “I have your cake. For real this time.”

The girl makes a surprised noise between a gasp and a yelp. Again she only allows a sliver of the door to open. Eyeing the cake, she starts, “You… You really got it for me?”

“I did,” she confirms with a nod. Byleth holds out the plate and fork, a napkin tucked underneath. Bernadetta takes it carefully, licking her lips as she gazes at the strawberry.

“This is…,” she starts quietly, “this is… the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

A little bit of an exaggeration, but she doesn’t want to ruin the mood. Bernadetta is managing to talk to her after all. “If you ever need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask. I’m here to help, even if you’re not in my class.”

From beneath her messy bangs, the younger girl looks up at her with big gray eyes. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll… remember that.” It’s very slight, but she swears she sees a smile on her face before the door shuts with a soft click.

Byleth still isn’t really sure how transferring houses works, but, if Bernadetta were to one day ask to join her class, she can’t imagine herself saying no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Types in "how do cats work" on Google because I'm a dog owner.
> 
> Anyway, happy first of November! Hope you all had a fun and safe Halloween. This chapter was actually shorter, but it felt incomplete for the mood I wanted to set, so I added about another 2,000 words to it. Also, I just... have so much fun writing Claude's dialogue. He's a fucking brat but that's part of why I love him so dearly. Lol
> 
> I tried really hard not to get carried away with describing the cathedral, but damn it. I didn't take five-billion art history classes by obligation to NOT somehow put that knowledge to use! (Also, cathedrals are just fascinating pieces of architecture. Someday I'd like to visit the ones in Europe.)
> 
> Er, and sorry I haven't answered comments from the previous chapter yet! School really ate up my time this past week, but I'll get to them before the end of today! I'm the kind of author who enjoys interacting with my readers; I always reply to every comment, regardless of its length! So thanks so much for leaving them! ❤️
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth grows more concerned about her class' first assignment in Zanado. Killing bandits is something she's used to, but her students have no experience taking lives. To distract herself, she explores the cathedral and tries to chat up Bernadetta from outside her door. It's fruitless, so she occupies herself with fishing instead. Claude keeps her company as she does. He develops up a weird, childish rivalry for her attention with a cat they've dubbed, 'Kitty Claude'. After dinner, Byleth takes Bernadetta a piece of cake as a comfort gift, and manages to brighten the girl's evening just a little. She hopes someday the reclusive student will talk freely with her, even wondering if she should offer the invitation to join her class in the near future.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ VIII ⧽  
  
The Red Canyon

**_26th of the Harpstring Moon, 1180 _**━

Her request to have a practice battle is accepted by Seteth. The weekend before the mission, she takes her students out to the nearby plateau where the knights usually train new recruits. Keeping an eye on 15 people at once is a little jarring from the four of the mock battle, Byleth finds.

She has to be constantly zigzagging and trust that some students will be able to provide cover for others. Ignatz still hesitates shooting arrows and Lysithea doesn’t time her magic blasts all too well. Raphael has no issue just rushing through opponents, but he’s very much like a bull: only focusing in one direction and not taking into account of others not directly in his line of sight.

Lorenz has improved with his Tempest Lance technique. Ever since they won the mock battle, he’s worked more diligently than even Lysithea. While Byleth is glad to see such effort, he’s still reluctant to take orders from Claude when she’s not around. And Claude doesn’t help the situation, throwing passive-aggressive comments at him with his shit-eating grin.

Hilda decimates her foes, but under the condition of being the only one close enough. She’ll just wait for someone else to do the job for her otherwise. Marianne exhausts herself too much by running around trying to heal several people within minutes while simultaneously throwing her Nosferatu spell at any knight that tries to get close. Leonie and a couple of other students are the only ones who don’t give Byleth any problems.

In the end, they (barely) win their practice run with the knights. But that feeling of dread still doesn’t go away, even when they return to the classroom just before lunch.

Everyone is sweaty and trying to pick the dirt off from their uniforms. Aside from a couple having to go to the infirmary for injuries, it was a successful sparring session overall.

“Okay,” Byleth starts, “all things considered, you guys did well.”

“Why do I feel like a ‘but’ is coming?” Claude comments.

“But—”

“There it is.”

“—our mission next week won’t be sparring practice.” She sits down on top of her desk, arms crossed. “Earlier this morning, I had announced we’re going to be handling some bandits out in Zanado. A small group of knights will accompany us, however…”

She looks over her class, all their eyes on her. “…you might not be able to avoid killing said bandits. And you cannot hesitate in doing so.”

The room gets quiet. Some students stare at the desk, and others just give her worried glances. Byleth crosses one leg over the other. “I’m not expecting everyone to participate. If you think you can’t take a life, then you can sit out. I won’t hold it against you in any way. Just remember that, eventually, there will come a day where you’ll either kill or be killed. That’s the nature of being a knight and why you’re all here in the academy. To defend yourself or your home, sometimes these things can’t be avoided.”

No one says anything, the only sound being the muffled gonging of the bell for the lunch hour. “Unfortunately, a few of you will have to accompany me, but should everyone not want in, then I’ll choose depending on who I feel has the tightest grasp on their weapons.” Byleth hops off her desk. “If you’re not up to it, please tell me by Wednesday of next week. Our mission is on the 31st, and I’d like a day to plan out tactics built around who’ll be attending.”

Most everyone gets up to leave, save for a select few. They ask if she feels like they’re ready to head out into real combat, honest answers only. Byleth says she doesn’t. With long faces, they tell her they won’t be attending the mission, but they’ll keep up their training meanwhile.

That leaves her with only eight students, and by Wednesday, none of them have informed her they’d be missing out. Though her class is temporarily smaller now, the students who remain are the ones she’s most concerned about.

Claude will do fine. He may be the class clown, but out in the field, he always has at least four backup plans and is quick to scan the environment for escape routes. And as long as no one is trying to show her up, Leonie can handle most threats. But Raphael, Ignatz, Lorenz, Marianne, Lysithea, and Hilda will need extra supervision.

“Hey,” comes her father’s voice as he knocks on the doorframe of her bedroom. “Can I come in? Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Yeah,” she replies tiredly.

Jeralt sits on her bed and she turns her chair around. He stares at her ink-stained fingers. “Still worried about the mission?”

“My class is cut in half for this mission, but that’s the only upside. The students who stayed…”

“Are your problem kids.”

She shakes her head. “They’re actually the ones who are advancing the quickest in terms of skill with their weapons. But they’ve still got to work on cooperating, and they’ve never taken a life. When they were sparring with the knights, a few of them still hesitated.”

Her father rubs at his beard. “How many of them had to be sent to the infirmary after your spar?”

“Only two. Everyone else just had minor cuts and bruises.”

“Were any of the injured ones part of the group that’s going with you?”

“No.”

Jeralt gives a hum and a nod. “Then they’ll survive.”

“You sound so sure.”

He huffs, gripping his knee with a hand. “I’m sure in your ability to lead them to safety. For someone with no teaching experience, your students have grown pretty fast with you guiding them. They wouldn’t have if they didn’t believe in you.”

Byleth stares at the mound of crushed up papers at the corner of her desk. She’s gone through several battle formations, but none of them ever seem good enough to lower the chance of death for all of her students. She’d rather not abuse the power of turning back time. It could have adverse effects from overuse, and the risk isn’t worth it.

“Have you eaten today?” Jeralt asks.

“I’ve been in here since the morning.”

“Well, it’s about 5 p.m. now. Let’s go get some grub. Maybe food will help you out of this jam you’re in.”

She complies and gets what she usually does: soup. They go to Jeralt’s office instead of eating at the dining hall. Fine by her. She’s not in the mood to speak to anyone.

By the time she’s half done with her bowl, Jeralt breaks the silence. “I can’t go with you on this mission, but enough knights will be there so you don’t have to worry so much.”

“That’s the thing. The knights _won’t_ always be there. Eventually, I need to lead my class on their own in future missions. If I don’t learn now, then that leaves more room for mistakes later down the line.”

She blows on her spoonful, slurping up the broth. Byleth knows that sooner or later, she’ll get the hang of leading other people into battle—although she had hoped they would be practice battles with the other houses. But Seteth did have a point. The Officers Academy is for growing new knights. New soldiers, whether for the church or for any of the lords all across Fódlan.

All the students here, should they decide to stay as knights in their future careers, will have killed at least one person. If she can help them to handle the severity of such actions without them growing numb, then they’ll be all the better for it.

“I’m not gonna say it’s easy leading people to fight and kill,” Jeralt starts after a while. “But the more you do it, the more you’ll learn how to keep everyone in your charge, safe. Minimize the losses while maximizing the results. Together, you’ll figure out how to keep your sanities through it, too.”

“You make it look effortless.”

He gives a grunt. “Your old man’s been at this a long time, By. I’ve made my own share of mistakes. Some had a heavy cost, but, the upside is that I didn’t have to pay that price again. You’ll go through the same thing, although I’ll always keep hoping your losses aren’t as great, if you make any at all.”

Jeralt smiles then, the kind he only reserves for her, his daughter. “It’ll be tougher to sleep at night if one of your little pupils dies, so stay vigilant and lead them well. I believe in you, Byleth.”

“I’m not called the ‘Ashen Demon’ for nothing,” she says in a more confident tone. Maybe fathers just have that kind of effect on their kids. “Those bandits will see why if they try preying on my students.”

“That’s my girl.”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Her class gets an early start on their short trek to Zanado. A small battalion of Seiros knights accompany them, but Byleth was reminded by Rhea that this is to mainly be a learning experience for the students. She has a feeling it’s also to assess her progress since the mock battle last month.

Morning light casts soft shadows around the boulders and ruins. Something massive was here before, judging by all the stone bridges, but Byleth can’t even begin to guess at the possibilities. Neither does she know why it’s called the Red Canyon. The earth around the area isn’t red at all, but the usual grays and browns.

“Um, we’re p-pretty high up, aren’t we?” Ignatz asks, eyeing the mist that hides the plunging drop beneath the canyon. “This elevation is… unnerving.”

“Too late to back out now, though,” says Leonie. “We’re already here.” She squints to the other side of the canyon where a cluster of bandits stand around in the ruins. “And I think I see our targets.”

“Looks like they’ve spotted us too,” Claude notes. The bandits shout and point their swords at them, picking up into a run toward the bridge. “If we wanna make it back in one piece before lunch, we better act fast. Teach, what’s the plan?”

“I was going to have us creep around those shrubs over there.” Byleth unsheathes her sword. “But our class has lost the element of surprise.”

Over her shoulder, she looks to the knights who are standing around the mouth of the canyon entrance. They motion for her to go, and the captain shouts that they’ll be on the lookout in case some of the bandits try to slip away.

“Stay together,” she tells everyone, “so I can keep an eye on you all. We’ll be fine. And remember, no hesitation this time.”

The bandits are within range now. The one at the front rushes at them first, raising his sword arm up high. Byleth runs forward, her students close behind but far enough that the man can’t reach them without going through her first.

“Allow me to demonstrate!”

She swerves away from his first swing and gives an upward slash across his chest with her own sword. He sucks in a sharp gasp as blood stains his clothes. The sword falls from his hand, and he collapses, unmoving.

Byleth isn’t surprised at the shock on her students’ faces when she turns back around. Only Claude’s expression is neutralized. Ignatz has a trembling grip on his bow. Marianne is huddled behind Raphael who’s frowning, and Hilda cringes at the sight of the dead body behind her professor. Lorenz keeps his lance steady but his brows are furrowed. Leonie swallows and stands straighter next to him.

Another bandit rushes close. Byleth turns around to slash at him, but a Miasma blast sears his skin and he cries out as another blob is hurled at him. He falls into a lifeless slump.

Lysithea is standing there, eyes narrowed, palm out. Arcane runes dance around her hand.

“Either me or them.” The small girl’s tone is calm. “I still have things I need to do, so, I won’t die here. And we don’t have time to waste. Right, Professor?”

“Correct. That was excellent timing, Lysithea.”

She nods and lowers her hand, the runes disappearing.

Bandits continue their advance. Leonie is the second to step up, keeping a safe distance as she thrusts the lance forward, striking one of the men in the abdomen. She doesn’t say anything, only sets her jaw and strikes at the next one. Raphael’s sheer size while charging straight at them is enough to stop some of the men dead in their tracks for Ignatz to snipe from the safety of the shrubbery. He manages to strike two of them in the shoulder, giving Lorenz a chance to finish them off. Raphael takes that opening to handle a third one. The man’s sword is knocked out of his grip by the gauntlet and is sent flying against a nearby boulder. The impact makes a grotesque cracking sound, then, he’s limp.

Hilda is arguing with Claude about something as he aims for a bandit still hiding in the ruins. Said man runs toward them even after getting shot directly in the sternum with an arrow. Hilda charges forward, slashing her axe across his chest. She yelps when his blood speckles on her clothes.

Lysithea sends another Miasma blast at one of the approaching men. She holds out her palm again but no spell shoots out. Her eyes widen and she mumbles to herself, new arcane runes flickering around her wrists. From behind, Marianne quickly casts Nosferatu when the man is within reach of the other girl and he’s thrown off the cliff from the force.

At least on this plateau, all the men have been dealt with. But the ground up ahead still has a few stragglers. Byleth squints, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare with her hand. One particularly burly man is shouting at the others in an old wrecked shrine.

“Hey, Teach.” Claude walks up to her, a bullion in his hand. “Found some of their loot in those ruins over there. They must not be very good thieves if _this_ is all they got. Should I leave it?”

“We’ll take it back with us and hand it over to Rhea.”

“Let’s stop and think for a sec. I personally don’t need the money, but, wouldn’t you prefer to keep it? At least for the class’ nest egg?”

That… does sound like a good idea. But Byleth hasn’t been told on what to do with stolen money. While it’ll be difficult to find out who it used to belong to, she can’t very well take it for herself either, even if it is for the class’ funds. They got this money by killing. Getting paid to take lives isn’t anything new to her, but the students—on the other hand—aren’t ready to take that step yet.

“No. I’ll give it to Rhea and she’ll decide how to use it.”

“Alright, you’re the teach. Catch.” He tosses it at her and she grabs it midair. “Wouldn’t be wise to trust me with that either. It might _mysteriously_ disappear before we get back to the monastery.”

She doesn’t know what he gets up to on his free time (when he isn’t hanging around her, anyway) but she doubts he needs an excess of money to do… whatever it is he has for hobbies. He’s Duke Reigan’s grandson after all. Money isn’t an issue for nobles like that.

“Why would it disappear? I trust you if you wanna hold onto it,” she offers.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Pocketing the bullion, she points with her sword to the other plateau. “We’re halfway done, but we still need to take care of those bandits over there. The one in the shrine is most likely the leader.”

“I have a suggestion.”

“I have ears to listen to your suggestion.”

He grins wide at that. “We should split up. There’s two bridges leading there. If we pincer them in an attack, they’ll be cornered and easier for us to take out.”

“Good idea.”

She rounds up her students near the shrubbery. Despite having sweaty faces and blood-stained uniforms, they don’t look too tired. But when they get back, Byleth ought to treat them to a nice meal as a comfort. Maybe she can ask Dedue for help with cooking since her skills are passable at best.

“We’re going to split up in two groups,” she instructs. “I’ll be leading one with Raphael, Lysithea, Leonie, and Ignatz. Claude, you’re in charge of Lorenz, Hilda, and Marianne.”

“Making me the leader of Group 2? Not that I’m complaining,” he gives a smug look to Lorenz who glares at him; no doubt having to follow Claude is eating away at his patience, “but you sure you don’t want me with you instead? After all, I did a tremendous job in the mock battle watching your backside.”

“I think you mean ‘watching her back’,” Lysithea corrects.

“Oh little Lysithea, I really don’t. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

She marches toward him with a raised fist, but Leonie throws an arm in front of her.

Byleth ignores his empty flirtations. “We need balanced groups. You can snipe while Lorenz and Hilda deal with the melee threats. Marianne will be there in case you need healing since you’ll have one less person. Prove to me that I can rely on you as the Golden Deer house leader, Claude, and then I might just let you ‘watch my backside’ again in future battles.”

Claude gives a laugh, eyebrow quirked. “_Teach_, not in front of the class!” but he doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed.

Hilda groans, shaking her head at him. Lorenz huffs loudly. “Professor, _please_ do not encourage his shenanigans. He’ll only become more insufferable.”

“We need to learn to get along if we’re going to complete this mission unscathed,” she reminds. Claude smiles, sticking out his tongue at Lorenz. She swears she can see steam emitting from his head. “You’ve got your assignments, so let’s finish getting rid of these guys.”

“Right. We’ll see you on the other side, Teach,” Claude says, bow in hand.

She watches them cross the farthest bridge before leading her own group over the closer one. As always, she takes care of the first bandit who charges at them and then lets Raphael, Leonie, and Lysithea handle the rest. Raphael swoops in to knock away one trying to swipe his axe at Lysithea and Leonie slashes at another aiming for Raphael when his back is turned.

“Ignatz.”

Her bespectacled student is aiming at one of the bandits, but he’s trembling immensely. The bowstring comes looser and looser until eventually the arrow flies and strikes the ground away from the bandit.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” comes his quiet reply as he hangs his head. “I… After those first few shots, I just…”

Byleth places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not angry, or upset, or anything remotely close to it. I’m glad you feel this way.”

Wide eyed, he raises his head. “Why?”

“Because it bothers you taking a life. That’s how we should all feel. You understand the severity of such actions. That’s what I want everyone to take away from this day. And you’re the first person to have understood the lesson.”

He doesn’t smile, but his frown is smaller. “Everyone can keep going, even someone gentle like Marianne, and I’m just over here cowering in the back.”

“They may be able to keep going now, but that’s part adrenaline, and partly because that’s the mission. Eventually they’ll have to deal with this reality when that’s worn off. You’re not alone in the feeling, even if your processing of it is different than theirs.”

Ignatz grips the shaft of the arrow, staring at his clenched fist. “Do you think I can do this, Professor?”

“I would’ve told you to stay behind at the monastery if I didn’t.” She gives a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. “You can stay near me for the rest of this battle. Having someone cover me is always a big help.”

“Okay. I won’t miss next time.”

It’s only a few more minutes until Byleth meets with Claude’s group at the shrine. In the distance, she sees the lifeless bodies left in their wake. Marianne finishes healing up Lorenz’s side, and he’s quick to underplay that it was only a minor bruise.

“He took a hit for Marianne,” Hilda corrects. “You should’ve seen him, Professor. She was busy trying to aim at this guy, and then another one came from behind her but Lorenz stabbed him! Not before getting cut himself though.”

“Like I said, I am quite alright.” Lorenz pats his side where the clothing is torn. There’s no more bleeding, but Byleth makes him take a vulnerary anyway.

“You didn’t have to do that for me.” Marianne stares at the healed wound. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, Lorenz….”

“And had I not, you would have been gravely injured or worse. I cannot, and will not, just stand around while you are in danger. That is a noble’s duty, after all, to look after those who do not have the means to do so effectively.”

“I’m glad you’re safe, Lorenz,” Byleth says. “And good job to all of you. We only have to deal with the leader now. Then we report back to the knights on the other side of the canyon.”

“Hey, Teach,” with an arrow, Claude points at the man standing in the ruined shrine, “now where have we seen that ugly mug before?”

The bandit watching them from his hideaway is the same one who had attacked them all that night on the outskirts of Remire Village. She thought she had dealt with him, but she was too focused on making sure Edelgard was alright to check for sure.

“You know him?” asks Raphael. “Aww man, that sucks. Taking out a dude who you knew. I feel extra bad now.”

“Not a friend of ours, big guy. That’s the bastard who tried to kill Edelgard, Dimitri, and myself early last month. Thought he kicked the bucket before.”

“We’ll make sure to get rid of him this time,” Byleth assures.

Her students walk behind her, weapons ready as she leads them toward the shrine. The bandit yells, swinging his large axe in the air. But he doesn’t move from his spot, only takes a few steps back.

“Damn it all! Just my luck!” he shouts, pointing the blade at her. “You’re that stone-faced bitch from Remire—augh!”

To her left, she finds Claude had released an arrow which is now lodged in the man’s left shoulder. Her student slowly lowers his arm back down.

“Not nice to call a lady names,” he shouts back. His expression is neutralized again. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you manners?”

“Y-You…,” growls the man, “and you’re that shitty kid from before too! I should’ve killed you first instead of going for that girl!”

“A bit too late for that, ain’t it?”

The man winces at his shoulder. He looks around, perhaps for an escape route. But there’s nowhere to go except forward. Nothing behind him except a wall of earth, and everywhere else is a drop away to the bottom of the chasm.

“Fuck this! This fucking sucks! I should’ve never listened to that masked guy!”

He charges down from the stairway, dodging Lysithea’s and Marianne’s magic casts. He’s flailing wildly and aims for Hilda, but Byleth jumps in the way. She shouts for them to leave him to her as she fights him off, dodging his blows. He’s much stronger than the other bandits; she doesn’t want to risk severely injuring her students.

“You—I’ll kill you!” He dodges another swipe of her sword and cries out in pain as he forces his left shoulder back to punch her with his large fist.

She hadn’t been expecting it. Too busy using herself as a wall for her class, and her sword slips from her hand only for a second. But by the time she catches the hilt, he’s swinging the blade down, aiming for her skull.

Except, the axe lands on the ground instead with a heavy clunk. The man chokes, grasping at his throat as blood oozes from the puncture wound left by an arrow.

Byleth follows the shocked gazes of her students all turned to Ignatz. He’s breathing hard, focus never leaving the man as he falls. The boy’s stance is frozen, arm still pulled back from the arrow release. His brow furrows, mouth in a tight line. There’s a glint of something in his eyes as he stares at the fresh corpse.

His huffs through his nose and swallows, standing straight.

“Like I said before, Professor,” his arms fall to rest at his sides, “I won’t miss my next shot.”

It’s Claude who finally breaks the stunned silence. “Holy shit, Ignatz,” he starts, staring at him with wide eyes. “You took him out in one go.”

“I… I had to otherwise he might’ve killed the professor and—”

Claude slings an arm around his shoulders, the smile returning to his face. “It’s a compliment! You’ve got a sharp eye, y’know that? Waiting for an opening so you wouldn’t hit Teach. And you got him right in the jugular! You’re the real MVP of today, Ignatz.”

The shock of his other classmates melts away. It’s replaced with smiles and congratulatory pats on the back. Hilda even hugs him, “You did great, Ignatz!” and gives him a peck on the cheek. Raphael brings him into a tight hug, lifting him off the ground, “Yeah! You did it little buddy!” and Lorenz gives a chuckle. “Truly exemplary bowmanship.”

Ignatz’s glasses fog up as his face grows red. “U-Um, thank you everyone. But I-I was only doing what I thought I should!” he replies, cleaning the lenses with the cravat of his uniform.

Byleth sheathes her sword. “I knew you could do it, Ignatz. You just needed time. Thank you for saving me.”

He gives a quick nod, cheeks still a little pink. “Of course, Professor!”

She looks at the corpse of the man. His eyes are open and glassy, staring up at nothing. Blood continues to pour out from his neck wound onto the dirt. Around different spots of the canyon are the fallen bodies of his crew, joining him in the aftermath.

Marianne’s soft voice is what draws her attention away. “We… took many lives today. I know they were bandits, but… I… I feel like I still…”

“It’s alright, Marianne,” Byleth says. “Let’s not stay here any longer than we need to.”

“Um, but do you want me to heal you first? Your lip is cut.”

“No, that’s alright.” She wipes the blood away with her arm. “Don’t worry; it’s only a throbbing pain.”

Her class returns to the knights who meet them halfway. They tell her they’ll deal with the cleanup with a dismissive wave before giving their compliments of leading her students into the fray. Sure, they all survived with minimal injuries, but that’s not what concerns her. Soon enough, their nerves will settle and the realization will dawn on them. First thing when they get back, she’ll report to Rhea and ask how she’s supposed to help with the expected trauma of their first kills.

_You have done well keeping your students alive._

_They did most of the work. I just gave instructions._

_Do not undermine your own ability, Byleth. They would have not made it without your guidance._

The morning sun is higher now. Canyon shadows become darker and the mist slips away from the ruins around the plateaus. She doesn’t know what it is, but staring at one of the weathered shrines, Byleth feels like it was beautiful once. Like somewhere she’d often go to, but she’s positive she’s never heard of or been to the Red Canyon until today.

_It does feel familiar, does it not?_

_Yes, but I know I haven’t been here before. I remember every assignment I’ve ever been on with my father._

_I feel as if I have also been here._

_When? _

_I… am uncertain. But much like you, I just know deep within my core that this is a place that should hold importance to me. And yet, I cannot fathom why that is._

“—don’t you think, Teach?”

Byleth blinks, and turns her attention to Claude. He’s staring at her, tilting his head slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She walks back with him to where her class is waiting at the path through the hills that’ll take them back to the monastery. “Were you saying something?”

“Was just mentioning that the name of this place is odd. Why do you think it’s called the Red Canyon? Nothing here is actually red.”

“That’s something I was wondering myself.”

“That why you spaced out?”

“Yes.”

She’s not really sure how he’ll take it if she admits she has a little girl talking to her inside her head. He’d probably think she’s even stranger than she is. Or, well, perhaps that’s true. Being called emotionless over the years and overhearing comments about her dead fish eyed stare says volumes.

The two of them stay at the rear of the class, watching the others walk on ahead. The knights are within viewing range behind them on the path. She’s not sure how they disposed of the bodies, but she supposes they had some mages burn them.

“Something’s been bugging me,” Claude says after a while. “Before we killed that bandit leader, he mentioned a masked guy. That he should’ve never listened to him.” He looks her way, hands resting behind his head. “What do you think that was about?”

“Maybe someone hired him.”

“My thoughts exactly. But who, and for what? Considering that fact, I’ve got a feeling it wasn’t coincidence that he attacked us last month.”

“You think someone was trying to assassinate you, Dimitri, and Edelgard?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

Byleth watches the backs of her students as they chat among themselves. “If someone is after your life, then the whole class could be in danger. We’ll have to train more frequently.”

“Oh I agree. But we should also stick closer together, you and I specifically. After all, you wouldn’t want your favorite student to get hurt, would you?” he asks, giving her puppy dog eyes. She feels like those work wonders on people who aren’t named Byleth.

“Like I said before, Claude, you’re not my favorite.”

“Hmm,” he leans away, giving her a skeptical glance, “obviously Kitty Claude doesn’t count. No, definitely not.” He sounds extra defiant about it. “Maybe Ignatz, then? After what he did today, how could he not be? He’s got the face of an angel, but there’s a real lethal killer under there. Those glasses must give him hyper vision.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I have no favorites. But he did do a good job.”

“And all thanks to you.”

“We all did our part. Thank you for leading the other group, Claude. It was a big help. Honestly.”

“Don’t mention it, Teach. There’s no ‘i’ in ‘team’ after all.” He holds out a fist to her. “Partners?”

She knows what this is. A ‘fist bump’. She’s seen students and knights alike do it. A symbol of solidarity among comrades. That’s what her class pretty much is, despite her being their instructor. And regardless of Claude’s consistent tomfoolery (as Lorenz would put it), he’s reliable when it counts.

Byleth slowly closes her hand into a fist, staring at it, and then bumps it against his own. “Partners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignatz @ Kostas: **_LET ME PAINT YOU A PICTURE!!!_** [ 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝟒𝟐𝟎 ]
> 
> This was another chapter I highly enjoyed writing. (I think Ignatz was my MVP on this map in my first playthrough, but I don't remember for sure.) Though Claude is my favorite Deer, Ignatz is my third after Marianne--which is why I gave him spotlight here. But I know he's one of the most disliked units in the entire cast for _some_ reason. He's a soft artsy nerd; how could anyone hate my son? This is an Ignatz Victor-loving house and there's the fucking door if you're mean to him!!
> 
> Also, he makes a fantastic Assassin class. He crit'd everything in my GD run and nobody could stop him. That's my boy, Crit Monster Ignatz. I'm so proud.
> 
> I'm starting to think about the paralogues I wanna include in this story, and Zanado will definitely be revisited. I'm not... gonna incorporate all of them because some aren't really plot-relevant, but the ones that are, they'll probably be in here. If there's one you think is significant to include, let me know in the comments!
> 
> And if you didn't already know, the third wave of DLC for FE3H just released yesterday. I cannot WAIT to play with the dogs and cats. The maid outfits are cute af and the sauna sounds interesting. Lmao -sigh- I was gonna stop playing 3H for a while once I finished the last battles of CF route because the new Pokemon game comes out next week. But damn, I might just be tempted to do a NG+ 2nd run with VW again with this new DLC wave. (And honestly, I probably am after I post this chapter. Lol) Oh! But the most important addition with this installment: we now get 25 save slots. 25!! _FINALLY._
> 
> Well, that's enough of my rambling, ha ha. I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and her class make the short trip to Zanado near Garreg Mach. Everyone is a little apprehensive in killing bandits, but all of them manage to end at least one each. Ignatz is the most reluctant to the point where he misses his marks while shooting arrows. Claude and Byleth find that the bandit leader was the same one who attacked them several weeks ago on the outskirts of Remire Village. Not wanting to risk her students' lives, Byleth takes him on solo, though finds it slightly more challenging than before now that she has to look after eight other people. She slips up and almost meets a gruesome end by his axe (again), but at the last second is saved by Ignatz who shoots an arrow straight into the man's neck. In the aftermath, she and Sothis feel like they've traveled here before, but neither can place why that is or why it's even nicknamed the Red Canyon in the first place.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ IX ⧽  
  
Encroaching Troubles

**_2nd of the Garland Moon, 1180 _**━

Though they’re worked to the bone with training and book studies, there’s also a smorgasbord of pastimes at the monastery. Sylvain’s favorite is chatting up his female peers. From any house, not just his own. And _oh_ how there are a lot of lovely ladies ripe for the picking.

One in particular has caught his attention ever since he first laid eyes on her: the Golden Deer house’s Block A professor, Byleth Eisner.

It’s weird that she’s around his age, yet she was given a teaching position instead of enrolling as a student. But from what he’s heard from Hilda, Byleth seems to be doing perfectly fine in that regard. Just two days ago she had successfully completed their first routing mission. All the bandits were wiped out with only Byleth and her small group of eight. No one was seriously injured, and everyone got in at least one kill.

When news of their stellar results got out, more and more students have been wondering aloud in passing about asking permission to join the Golden Deer. Even those from the Blue Lions. Yesterday, Felix made a comment about wanting to spar with Byleth, not believing she’s all that great until he sees it for himself. Should the praises prove true, then he’d consider joining her house.

Sylvain has no such conditions.

He’s actually waiting here in the reception hall for Byleth to show up; one of her usual spots to do idle paperwork. He knows she was gardening earlier in the greenhouse with Ashe. That’s a thing they do now, apparently. Together, alone. Ashe is too much of a blushing virgin to have any salacious thoughts about her, but damn if that guy isn’t the luckiest around for getting time alone with her without even trying.

And if Byleth isn’t with him or a couple of her students, then she’s never seen without Claude.

Thankfully, that’s not the case this late morning. Sylvain spots her walk into the reception hall, taking a seat at an empty table. She sets her book down and begins to scribble something in it, looking back at a small splay of papers to her left.

Byleth does this for a good long while. After a time of the quill scratching away at parchment, she stretches her arms up and cracks her neck, rolling her shoulders. Crossing one leg over the other, the woman goes back to writing. Maybe a lesson plan for this week.

It’s then he really can’t take his eyes off of her. He knows Hilda had helped her pick out some new clothes (apparently she only had that armor he had first seen her with). But he wonders if Byleth is even aware of what her outfit does to people. And by people, he means himself. It’s so simple; not even anything fancy. Turtlenecked collar with sleeves that reach the middle of her biceps. But oh boy.

That black dress hugs her entire figure; no loose fabric anywhere. And the skirt half? It rides more than halfway up her bare, toned thigh with her leg crossed over the other like that. That would be the end of it, except—and he’s sure even she’s unaware of the attention it draws—there’s also a gratuitous window straight across the chest. It gives a _very nice_ view of her cleavage, and holy shit if she hasn’t got the biggest, nicest rack he’s ever seen—

“_Hello_, Sylvain?” a girl says, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Are you even listening to me?”

Oh, right. He’s currently talking to… a girl. Whose name he can’t remember right now. A cute girl who he flirted with yesterday in the gardens and has been following him ever since. Gives him casual touches on the shoulders and arms, pressing herself close to him. He’ll have her in his bed later this week, probably. That’s usually how these things go.

“Of course I am, beautiful,” he replies with an easy smile. “But hold that thought for juuust a minute. I’ll be right back, and then you can tell me all about that beach trip you took last summer.”

Sylvain saunters over to Byleth’s table and slides into the seat in front of her. She doesn’t look up from her work, still scribbling away.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor,” he greets, an arm resting on the polished wooden surface. “And how are you doing on this warm, sunny morning?”

“Hello, Sylvain,” she replies, focus still on her book. “I’m writing a lesson plan for this week.”

“Does your plan have room for one more?”

She looks up at him now with her big, blue eyes. A hue or three just shy of lavender. Long lashes flutter as she blinks. When she doesn’t respond, Sylvain continues, “I heard about how you handled your class’ recent mission. A lot of people are impressed, myself included. Kinda want to get in on that action. Hanneman is nice enough, _but_, I feel like your instruction methods are more my style.”

“You don’t know me, Sylvain.”

“But I will get to if I join the Golden Deer. I’ll even sit in the front row and everything. Raise my hand when asking questions, turn in work on time, and you can bet I’ll ask for tutoring when I need it. You’ll never have a more attentive pupil.”

“Lysithea might challenge you for that title. She’s currently my top student.”

_Grades aren’t what I’m interested in topping_, he thinks, sneaking a quick glance at that so very sinful cleavage before meeting her eyes again. Damn, Hilda knew what she was doing.

He sits upright, grinning. “Then that’s a challenge I have no choice but to accept! If you’ll allow me in your class, of course.”

“Wouldn’t you miss your friends in the Blue Lions?”

Sylvain shrugs a shoulder. “Sure, but I can still hang out with them after class and on weekends. And hey, who’s to say that a few of them won’t join me later?”

Byleth stares at her book. Sylvain knows that the students who were once in her class and transferred out that first week weren’t allowed back in. Their own fault for timing their groveling right after Byleth wins them the mock battle. Who would be stupid enough to transfer out of her class anyway? Ingrates, that’s who.

“I’ll have to catch you up to our current lesson,” she finally says, looking at him again. “I don’t know how far Hanneman has gotten in his lectures.”

“Don’t professors all follow the same curriculum?”

“Yes, but we’re allowed to customize how we want to spread the information throughout the year. I’ll speak with him later today so I know where you all are.”

“This mean I’m in your class now?”

She nods. Byleth pulls out a sheet of paper from behind the last pages of her book. “Here’s the transfer form. Fill it out and then have Hanneman sign it. Bring it back to me so I can take it to the records room. I carry them around in anticipation of students wanting to join.”

“Careful, Professor,” he says, taking the clean, crisp parchment. “You might be hauling a whole stack once more students hear that you’re allowing other houses to join yours.”

“I don’t mind; I can handle a larger class now.” Byleth closes her book, tucking away loose sheets between the pages. “But since you’ll be joining my class,” she stands up and walks over to him, teaching materials tucked in her arms, “there’s one thing I want you to do for me.”

Sylvain rises immediately to meet her. Standing next to her this close, she’s actually pretty tiny. The top of her head barely reaches his chest. Those heels probably add two inches to her height, and without them, she’d be even shorter. Not that he’s complaining in the least. It’ll be that more comfortable to hold her in his arms when she inevitably falls for his charm.

And she will.

“I’d do anything for you, Professor,” he says, placing a hand to his heart. “Just say the word.”

“Seteth is having a seminar later today about sexual harassment. I want you to go and bring me proof you went. If you’re going to be in my class, you need to meet my standards.”

Welp. She definitely won’t make this game any easier.

“Aww, c’mon. I’ll be good!” _For a while._

Byleth shakes her head. “Dimitri told me you’re a capable fighter and a reliable friend. But he sounded exasperated when telling me about all the times he’s tried to get you to stop your flirtatious behavior. This is my condition for joining my class: go to that seminar or else I won’t let you in.”

He holds his hands up in defense. “Hey I get it! No worries. I’ll go to that seminar and even take notes. A spot in your class is worth that and more,” he ends with a wink.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning then. Don’t be late. Have a nice day, Sylvain.”

“You too, Professor.”

Byleth walks down the reception hall, heels clicking along the tiles. The sway of her wide hips has him grinning and—oh, hell, she’s got an ass too. He slowly shakes his head, eyes tracing her form as she walks further and further away. Biting his thumbnail, he sucks in air through clenched teeth. How’d he get so damn lucky to have his eyes graced by such a gorgeous woman?

“_Definitely _gonna sit in front of the class.”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


After that impromptu chat with Sylvain, Byleth heads up to the second floor for her monthly meeting with Rhea. Knowing that the archbishop was pleased with the Zanado assignment, no doubt Byleth will keep getting similar missions. In that regard, it’s not much different than mercenary work. Except, her company is made up of students. Mere teenagers. But maybe having one extra fighter who’s slightly older will prove beneficial.

_I do not know why on earth you allowed that philanderer into your class._

_He’s strong. That’s what Dimitri said._

_Oh, well that completely absolves him of his wandering eyes along your body then, doesn’t it?_

_Why are you so frustrated? I’m more than capable of killing him if that’s what you’re concerned about._

_That… is not at all what I was thinking, no._ Sothis sighs. _I am sorry. I should not judge so soon. Every person has more than one facet to them; that young man is no exception. But it is as I said: just be wise, and all should be well._

Byleth only hums in response before knocking on the door to Rhea’s meeting room. It’s to the left of the dais inside the audience chamber. She’s never been in here before, but this is where Seteth had said to meet them this time.

“Professor,” he greets. “You are on time today.”

“I have things I need to do, so I can’t waste it.”

He gives her a look and allows her inside. The meeting room is a lot smaller than the audience chamber, but is also moderately furnished. A large floor to ceiling stained glass window is to the right-most wall and casts the greatest amount of light into the space. There’s an ornate desk situated on a raised part of the floor in front of it, but that’s the only notable thing about the room. On the farther side rest two couches and a coffee table in-between.

Rhea is sitting on one of them, sipping some tea. Her brows are furrowed as she reads a parchment laid in her lap. When Byleth approaches, a smile appears on her face. “Good morning, Professor. Did you sleep well? Would you like some tea?”

“Yes I did, and no thank you. Did you get good rest too?”

“I try, although recent events have been plaguing me. But perhaps you can help.”

“Of course.”

“Such a sweet child,” she comments, the gentle smile still on her lips. Rhea sets the teacup back on its saucer, placing it aside on the table. “Let us begin our meeting.” She gestures to the couch in front of her, and Byleth sits. Seteth remains standing by Rhea’s side.

“Your mission this month will take you into the Kingdom. You will be assisting the Knights of Seiros in a cleanup assignment from a recent rebellion. It has already been dealt with for the most part, but we are concerned there are still a few remnants of aggression remaining.”

“What exactly happened?”

Seteth replies for her. “Being that it is a large continent, the church has separate factions within Fódlan to help maintain the faith. Garreg Mach is known as the central church. The eastern church is within the Leicester Alliance, and the western church lays on the border of the Adrestian Empire and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. As such, sometimes there are… disagreements among the branches.”

“From what we know of currently, this rebellion was spearheaded by a minor lord of the Kingdom from Gaspard territory, Lord Lonato,” Rhea clarifies. “He is of the western church. Reports say that he had been planning to attack the central branch. Only just three years ago has he been at odds with us, but we have yet to confirm for certain why this is. Regardless, we must put a stop to the remainder of the rebels before they can reach Garreg Mach and harm its inhabitants.”

“Unfortunately, we do not have Lord Lonato in custody,” Seteth says. “He was not at the bulk of the rebellion our knights fought in, but he is still at large, no doubt trying to replenish his numbers.”

Lord Lonato. She’s heard that name before. Recently too.

“My students were able to handle Zanado,” Byleth starts, “but a rebellion is a big step upward, even if it is just a cleanup job. Bandits are disorganized. A lord and his soldiers? Not so much. And not all of my students got the combat experience in the canyon. I allowed some to stay behind since they weren’t ready.”

“You will have a month to prepare them,” Seteth says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “But by then, it could very well have already been handled completely by the knights. In that situation, you will be assigned another mission. Should we still need your class’ assistance, you will not be going alone, as we have said. The Knights of Seiros are to do most of the fighting. Your class will stay at the rear flank.”

The door opens then and in walks a woman dressed in armor. “Sorry I’m late, your grace. Got caught up in stuff.” She has a confident gait as she approaches. Her blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail with messy bangs framing her face. It stands out against her sun-kissed skin. “Oh, is this that professor I keep hearing about? Bylass or something? Man, you really are young!”

“Catherine, thank you for finally joining us,” says Seteth, the barest hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry!” Catherine gives an apologetic smile. “I’m here now, so don’t get your pantaloons in a twist, Seteth. Did you give this girl the rundown of what’s happening?”

A weary sigh escapes him, but otherwise his tone is calm. “Yes, we did inform _Professor Byleth_ of what is happening.” She doesn’t care if people get her name wrong. But knowing Seteth—someone who she’s sure is still annoyed with her—makes a point to correct others over it, leaves her feeling somewhat similarly to those dinners she eats with Jeralt.

“Good, that saves us on time. Hey, I’m Catherine, bona fide Knight of Seiros.” She holds out her hand, and Byleth shakes it. “Woah, quite a grip you have there for someone with small hands!”

“Catherine is one of our finest knights,” Rhea compliments. “In leagues with Jeralt, even.”

“Really, there’s no need for praises, Lady Rhea. But thank you all the same.”

“On this mission,” Seteth starts, “she will be leading the knights. We must intercept Lord Lonato and his rebels before they can reach closer to Garreg Mach. You and your class are to abide by her command in order for this to result in as little casualties as possible.”

“You make everything sound so grim, Seteth.” Catherine shakes her head. “But he’s not completely wrong. I’m more than capable of getting you and your kids back here in one piece. I won’t even need to use Thunderbrand to do it either.”

Byleth blinks. “Thunderbrand?”

“Yeah, my Relic weapon. Do you know of Relics?”

She had briefly skimmed through a section on Relic weapons in her texts, but they didn’t go into much depth. Apparently only nobles can wield them. Something to do with Crests or whatever.

“I’ve heard of them,” she replies plainly.

“Hmm, well I guess a professor wouldn’t have much need for one, huh? Although a few noble kids in your class might get their own at some point. They’re the strongest weapons around, nearly ancient. Passed down through families and the like. Kinda like heirlooms.”

“Except they are not trinkets such as a locket,” Seteth quickly cuts in.

“Not saying they are! But anyway, I’ll take Thunderbrand with me on this mission for that extra security.” Catherine plants her hands on her hips. “Although, I’d like to see what you’re made of before we go. How about a sparring session later today? In the Knight’s Hall.”

“Okay.”

“Great! I better get my chores done before then. Meet me there around, say, 4 p.m.? Just before dinner starts. That way you’ll build up an appetite.”

“I’ll be there.”

Catherine grins at her. “I better get a move on. I’ll see you then, Beret! And have a good afternoon, Lady Rhea, Seteth.” She waves at them before exiting the room.

“Her name is Professor By—” Seteth sighs again when the door shuts closed. “We were not even finished with our meeting.”

Rhea chuckles. “It is fine, Seteth. There is not much more to say.” She looks to Byleth. “We can provide you with extra hours in the training grounds and practice battles with the knights this month. If you are that concerned about your class, I will do what I can to help you prepare them for the potential trek.”

“That would be appreciated. Thank you, Lady Rhea.”

“But of course. As I have said before, here we are like family, and you always aid your family whenever possible.”

Though her smile remains gentle, the gaze in her eyes has goosebumps rising along Byleth’s arms. She politely excuses herself when the meeting is over, and doesn’t look back once she closes the door to the office.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Sothis convinces her to go to the cathedral again after Byleth ran into Mercedes. The girl had noticed her spacing out and asked if everything was fine. She told her she was just a little tired, and Mercedes insisted on getting more rest.

“If you don’t,” she had said, “then I might have to stand by your door all day to make sure you’re resting.”

“I’ll be fine, really.”

Mercedes didn’t look convinced, but all she said was, “There’s a counselor in the cathedral if you ever need to talk to someone. You can submit any troubles anonymously and she’ll help as best as she can. But praying to the goddess might also ease your worry. Please do take care of yourself, Professor.”

And so she wanders about the large cathedral, looking for this counselor. She should’ve asked Mercedes where she is instead of bothering monks and nuns to point her in the right direction.

“I hear you have been looking for me?” a woman asks. Byleth didn’t even see her there earlier. She’s standing off to the side behind one of the pillars and candle stand. The woman gives her a tired smile. Her hair has streaks of gray in it and wrinkles sketch age on her features.

“Oh, are you the counselor?”

“Yes, although perhaps not for everyone.”

“What do you mean?”

The woman frowns. “My years are catching up to me. Some of these requests come from our students, and I’m not always sure how to reply. It’s easier with the adults, but that’s no excuse. I simply… can’t connect to the students. Most of the time, I just get knights or monastery residents. The student slips have been piling up as a result. I don’t want to leave them unanswered, but you young folk are still impressionable. I don’t want to say something wrong that might lead you astray.”

“Maybe I can help,” she says without thinking.

_You have no experience with counseling. What if the requests are something grave? Then what shall you do?_

_But I’m a teacher. A part of my job is counseling if you think about it._

Sothis sighs.

_Do not blame me then if you give an unwise answer to a student’s troubles. Although, I suppose since it is anonymous, this will be decent practice for you in learning to comfort others._

“Are you certain? I assume you’re already quite busy, Professor.”

“No, I can handle it. Not all at once, maybe, but I’ll start whittling them down.”

The woman smiles and shows her a wooden box with a slit opening on the top. A lock is clasped to the front. “I cannot allow you to take it outside the cathedral,” the woman says, handing her the key, “but you may view them here in this little alcove if you’d like. Our students trust that we keep all their troubles private, after all.”

Byleth unlocks it and finds there is a considerable stack of paper pieces inside. Taking the first one, she doesn’t recognize the handwriting. The counselor escorts her to a seat in the alcove, covered by a lattice wall. One by one, Byleth goes through the slips with the woman who gives her tips on how to handle the less severe questions compared to the more dire ones. Sometimes Sothis jumps in to give her own advice.

When she’s done getting through all of them, a small part of her is relieved that none of the slips were in her students’ writing. But she doubts that’s going to last forever.

They just had their first exercise in taking real human lives. While none of them reported nightmares or anything like that, she wonders if they just don’t want to worry her. Byleth’s class isn’t a place for her to merely test her comforting skills, though. She wants to already know how to console them in situations like these. Maybe doing this kind of anonymous work instead will help her express her empathy clearer for future battle aftermaths.

“Oh my, you certainly got through them in no time!” The counselor neatly folds the papers back in place. All of them have a little doodle on the back. Maybe a marker the students made so they can identify which one is their own.

“I’m a quick study.”

“Well thank you for all your help, Professor. I can finally put these in the reply box so students can come get them.” The woman smiles at her. “I would appreciate your help in the future, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll try to drop by once every weekend,” she replies, before dismissing herself.

_It is a little saddening to have read all of those. There are many personal issues plaguing the students. Although, I suppose it is to be expected. Adolescence tends to do that._

_I’ve never had those problems._

_No, but you are having them now. What, with being so concerned over your students’ well-being._

_I can handle it._

_Of that I have no doubt. However, that young lady Mercedes is not wrong. It would do you well to have someone to talk to regardless when you are feeling troubled._

_My father’s here. And I also have you. So long as I have you both, I’ll be okay._

She hears more than sees the smile when Sothis hums in reply.

_I will always be here to assist should you need it, young one._

From the corner of her eye, Byleth spots the back of a familiar head of gray hair. She walks over to find Ashe sitting at one of the pews. He’s looking down at his lap, brows furrowed and a deep frown on his lips. She’s never seen him sad before. He’s always so cheerful when he’s helping her garden. Just earlier today he was talking about the meaning behind rose colors with the biggest smile on his face.

“Ashe?”

He looks up at her with the barest hint of surprise. “Oh, Professor. Hello again.”

“Are you alright?”

The boy gives a forced smile, “Yes, I’m al—”, then he sighs. “No, actually, I’m… not doing all that well right now.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“Oh! No, no d-don’t trouble yourself over me. It’s—I wouldn’t want…”

His words die out when Byleth takes a seat next to him anyway. He stares at her with large, sad eyes. He looks like a puppy that’s been kicked, and a part of her wants to cut off the leg of whoever thought that was a good idea.

“You can tell me, Ashe. I’m not your class’ professor, but, I’d still like to offer my help if I can.” When he doesn’t reply, she adds, “Think of it as me repaying you for teaching me how to garden.”

“But you don’t have to repay me for that; I like spending time with you! Ah…,” his cheeks turn a deep shade of pink, and he stares at his lap again, “um, that is—I mean it’s really no big deal. I like teaching other people about gardening and stuff.”

“And I like helping students, people like yourself, when they need it.”

Finally, after a pause, he nods. “Okay.” Shoulders slumped, he starts, “After you and I finished our gardening earlier this morning, I went back to the dorms. Prince Dimitri dropped by my room shortly after. He… told me there’s trouble in the Kingdom, that a rebellion is threatening Garreg Mach. And it’s led by… Lord Lonato. My father.”

Oh, so that’s where she heard the name before.

“He’s actually my adoptive father,” Ashe continues when she doesn’t say anything. “But he treats me like if I’m his own son by blood. He… lost his a few years ago. Christophe. I wasn’t close to him, but he was nice to me and my younger siblings.”

“You have siblings?”

Ashe nods. “Two. A brother and a sister. They’re living in Lonato’s estate right now. Anyway, I… I rushed to Seteth’s office to ask if it was true. He told me I had nothing to worry about, that what Lonato’s doing doesn’t affect my enrollment status here.”

“But that’s not what you cared about.”

He shakes his head. “No. I just—why would Lonato want to rebel against the church? He’s never said anything to me before about any of it. And he… he wouldn’t do something like this. He’s a good man, Professor, I promise! He’s generous and compassionate. I just…,” he hangs his head, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t understand.”

_This poor child. But now you have an actual familiar student who is being troubled, Byleth. How will you handle it? He is not an anonymous slip of paper._

Honesty is the best policy. That’s what Jeralt had always told her. Telling a lie will just trap you deeper and deeper in the web until you’re too tangled to break free without falling.

“My class got assigned this month’s mission earlier today,” she starts, carefully. “We’re actually going to accompany Catherine and the Knights of Seiros to defeat any remaining rebels.”

Ashe’s attention snaps up to her, eyes wide. “What? They’re… They’re sending Catherine? But she’s… she’s so strong! That doesn’t make any sense unless… oh no… No….” He hangs his head again, hands gripping his hair this time.

_You have made things worse._

_I can see that, Sothis._

_Do not get snappy with me._

Byleth stares at Ashe, but he doesn’t look up. He’s mumbling something to himself, eyes scrunched closed. “Ashe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. But I didn’t want to hide the truth from you either. You deserve to know.”

He looks at her finally, brow still creased with worry. “I’m not upset at you, Professor. I just… don’t understand why this is happening. And I can’t do anything about it. Seteth said I’m not allowed to visit Lonato’s territory for safety reasons. But I don’t want to just stand by and do nothing either. I want answers, and nobody’s listening to me.”

Ashe sits up straighter then. “Professor, I know this is a lot to ask—and you don’t have to accept of course, but I want to go with you on this mission. I’m not a part of your class, but I can still help. I promise I will.”

In one of the faculty meetings, she learned students can offer their aid to a different house if they so please, and if the professor agrees to it. It’s only for a month at a time, and paperwork needs to be filled out for it. The students don’t take part in the lectures, but they can show up for training if they like an instructor’s methods.

If this will help ease his pain, then Byleth has no choice but to accept.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ll have to do some extra training with you on weekends, though. I don’t want you to get hurt, Ashe.”

“Of course, okay. Thank you, Professor.” His smile is weak, but it’s there nonetheless. She’ll count that as a win.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth shows up in the Knight’s Hall a few minutes before 4 p.m.. It’s a large spacious room with one side made into a lounge, and the other a small dirt training ground. The lounge has a wall of bookshelves, some couches, and a fireplace. The building is open to both knights and students, although she doesn’t see too many of the latter at the moment.

“Professor, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, Dimitri. Hello.”

The young prince gives her a smile. Dedue is next to him but only offers a nod in greeting. She almost never sees Dimitri without the larger boy nearby.

“Did you come here to train?” he asks.

“No, I’m actually waiting for Catherine. She wants to spar to test my merits before our mission next month.”

“Ah, so it was you she spoke of. She was here earlier, but she just stepped out. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. What sort of mission are you going on?”

“We’re accompanying the knights to stop Lord Lonato’s remaining rebels.”

Dimitri frowns. “Oh. I had heard a class would be joining the knights, but I didn’t know it was yours. I’m sorry, Professor. I never suspected Lord Lonato would cause such chaos. Had I, I would’ve gotten to the bottom of it before it escalated to this level.” He clicks his tongue. “But I’m still too young to take the throne. I can’t do _anything_. It’s so frustrating.”

“Your Highness,” Dedue starts, “this isn’t your fault.”

“Dedue’s right,” agrees Byleth. “You’re not the only one who didn’t expect something like this to happen. Ashe was completely caught off guard too.”

“You spoke to him?” asks Dimitri.

“Earlier in the cathedral. He was really bothered by the news and asked me if he could accompany my class on the mission. I already turned in the paperwork and Hanneman signed off on it.” Seteth and possibly Rhea might not be too pleased, though. Oh well. She’s doing this for him, not for them. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. I trust that you can watch out for him.” He pauses, fingers drumming on his thighs. “I don’t mean to change the subject so abruptly, but there is something I want to confirm with you while we’re on the topic of my peers. Is it true that Sylvain will be joining your class?”

Byleth nods. “Is that a problem? I can tell him no if it bothers you. I know you were childhood friends. And I understand that transferring houses can also get a little complicated with loyalties, and things like that.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “No, that’s alright. I just wanted to hear it from you. I’m not at all concerned about allegiances and whatnot. It’s only a classroom change, after all. He was quite happy when he shared the news to us, even waving the form in the air.”

“I only agreed because you said he’s a capable fighter. I can handle a bigger class now that I’ve had some time to work with my current students. Having extra help is never a bad idea. Besides, I figure maybe I can ease your worry a bit when trying to get him to behave.”

She adds that she required him to take Seteth’s seminar on sexual harassment before she’ll allow him into her class. Without proof, there’s no seat with his name on it in the Golden Deer as far as she’s concerned.

That makes Dimitri smile, and he even gives an amused hum. “Thank you, Professor, but you didn’t have to trouble yourself over me.”

“You may not be in my class, but you’re still a student. I’ll help you where I can, Dimitri.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, he doesn’t get another word out when Catherine walks into the knight’s hall. Following her are some of the knights, and weirdly, Felix. When the boy spots them, he walks over.

“Boar,” he greets Dimitri. Felix only gives a nod to Dedue. “Professor, I hear you’re going to be fighting Catherine.”

“Yes. Why?”

“I haven’t gotten the chance to spar with you yet, so I wanna see if it’s even worth it.”

“The professor is a capable fighter,” Dimitri defends. “Even if she doesn’t beat Catherine, having a sparring session with her would be—”

“Wasn’t talking to you,” comes his sharp reply.

“That’s a harsh way to treat friend,” Byleth calmly notes.

“I’m not here to talk about ‘friendship’. I only came to watch. Speaking of,” he nods to somewhere over her shoulder, “Catherine’s waving at you.”

Byleth dismisses herself and walks over to the woman. She’s greeted with a wide grin. “You showed up! Kinda thought you wouldn’t.”

“No. I said I was going to be here, so I am.”

Catherine chuckles. “That you are. You don’t mind an audience, do you? Some new recruits.” Behind her are a few knights chattering among themselves. Dimitri, Dedue, and Felix stand by on the other side.

“That’s fine.”

“Great! Then let’s get started. The loser will be the one who steps out of this dirt box first, who’s disarmed first, or somehow otherwise incapacitated.”

Both of them choose training swords as their weapons. For sparring sessions, real blades aren’t allowed, at least within the monastery. Something about keeping damage minimal and the infirmary count small.

In the dirt pit, Catherine stands at the end closest to the knights and Byleth takes her stance at the opposite side. She hears Dimitri encourage, “Good luck, Professor,” just before Catherine charges at her.

Byleth sidesteps and blocks the blow with her sword. It’s a heavy hit, and she’s a little surprised. No one hits that hard except for Jeralt. Rhea wasn’t kidding when she said Catherine is a top tier soldier.

Though she herself hasn’t gotten struck yet, it’s a little irritating not being able to land a blow on Catherine either. All Byleth’s been doing is dodging or blocking. Catherine’s nimble steps keep her on her toes. One particular twirl gives Byleth an opening, however. She ducks, then thrusts the blade, striking the woman in the leg.

“Damn,” she curses through her teeth. “I wanted to get in the first hit. You’re no slouch, Beles. But I gotta apologize. I wasn’t being as serious earlier. Now I see that was a huge mistake. Won’t happen again.”

She somehow swings the sword even harder and faster, and Byleth actually stumbles back as she tries to block. Her steps are different now and don’t fall in line with the pattern from before. Byleth dodges a swing to her arm and tries to swipe on the return, but Catherine swerves to the side and strikes her sword against her ribs.

Byleth winces at the pain. She dodges and blocks more strikes, Catherine forcing her around the dirt arena. She has to duck low to avoid another swing that would’ve had her stepping out, and it’s that move that allows Catherine to give her a strike on her left arm. Byleth brings up her sword just as another strike aims for her chest.

She struggles to hold it there. Catherine grins at her, blue eyes burning with focused determination. Byleth manages to shove her away and twirl a strike across her side. Catherine lunges just as Byleth reels back and the slash hits her wrist, knocking the sword away.

“Guess I win.” Catherine points the sword at Byleth’s sternum. The knights behind her give applause. “But not bad for your first try. You’re the real deal. Jeralt’s taught you well.”

“He had to,” she replies, catching her breath. “Would’ve died out there otherwise.”

“Take that attitude with you when we intercept Lonato. Now that I know I can count on you, I expect I won’t have to worry so much. Your kids lucked out with you as a professor. Hope that good fortune still stands during the mission.”

“It will. And I’d like to spar with you again sometime, if you’re able. This experience was valuable.”

Catherine gives a smile and a hearty pat to her shoulder. “That can be arranged. And hey, maybe you’ll actually beat me someday!” she laughs.

The knights crowd around their renowned commander, sending praises her way. She’s quick to dismiss their gushing, telling them it isn’t at all necessary. Catherine instead mentions they better keep up their own training because she doesn’t like slackers out in the field.

“Well done, Professor,” compliments Dimitri, walking up to her with Dedue and Felix in tow. “You might’ve not beaten Catherine, but you’ve endured the longest against her out of everyone, even other knights. Felix didn’t last as long the one time he challenged her.”

“Don’t tell everyone my business, _boar_,” Felix snaps.

“I’m not saying it in a negative way! I have yet to best Catherine myself; she isn’t an easy foe to defeat. I was simply—”

“Shut it.” Felix gives Byleth a look. The scowl on his face disappears. “You didn’t beat her, but you did land a few hits. Decent enough, I guess.”

“Does that mean you want to spar with me soon?”

“Not really.”

Byleth shrugs. The scowl returns to his face. “What?” she asks.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“If you don’t want to spar, I’m not gonna force you. And if you don’t think I’m worthy to fight, then you won’t take me seriously. But if you change your mind, Felix, I’m open to practicing with you. Just know you won’t get priority.”

“_What?_”

“My students come first. They constantly want to spar with me, so my time is dedicated to them. You either have to be in my class if you want a guarantee, or you’ll just have to wait until I have free time.”

Byleth ignores his hard stare and addresses Dimitri. “I have to go, but know that you—and Dedue as well—are also welcome to spar with me when I’m able.”

“Of course, Professor,” replies Dimitri, his smile warmer than before. “I’ll keep that in mind. Likewise, if you ever need help with Sylvain, don’t hesitate to ask me. He can be a handful if you’re not familiar with him.”

“Why would she need your help with that?” Felix asks, the frown still on his face.

“Sylvain transferred into my class.” Byleth doesn’t miss the boy’s eye roll and the utterance of him not being surprised in the least. He mutters something under his breath about his friend truly living up to the definition of ‘whore’. Should she even consider them friends in the first place with the way he talks about him?

That’s not really any of her business, though. “Speaking of, I need to meet with Hanneman so I know what you all have learned, just in case I need to give Sylvain tutoring so he can catch up.”

“Good luck with him, then. Thanks for taking the dead weight off our hands.”

“Felix…,” Dimitri shakes his head, “I know Sylvain can be frustrating sometimes, but when he keeps up with his training, it shows in our assignments.”

He gets ignored as Felix just gives Byleth a nod, “I’ll see you around,” and then exits the Knight’s Hall without looking back.

Dimitri gives a weary sigh. “I apologize for him, Professor. He isn’t the most sociable of people, but he didn’t used to always be that way.”

“It’s alright, Dimitri. I don’t take offense to it or anything. But I better get going too. You have a good day, and you as well, Dedue.”

Their good byes are a lot more pleasant than Felix’s. Byleth was serious though in that she truly doesn’t care if other students are indifferent to her. Her priority from now until the foreseeable future will always be those under her charge. A part of her can’t help but wonder though why Felix is the way he is.

Oh well. She has the month’s mission to worry about right now. One prickly pear of a teenager isn’t going to make her lose sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On my first playthrough, I recruited Sylvain by accident because I didn't know he joins your house without conditions if you play as female Byleth. Lol Now he's a staple in all of my routes. I refuse to kill him post-timeskip. Normally I don't care about philanderers, but he ended up becoming my second favorite overall character in FE3H. As much as I love Sylvain though, he's one of those that I enjoy making fun of. He also needs a good ass kicking. I have plans for him in this story, so I'm excited to share how it all unfolds....
> 
> He reminds me a lot of [this meme](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/distracted-boyfriend) and it's how I imagine he joined Byleth's house in front of the other Blue Lions. LMAO
> 
> Last weekend I finished the Crimson Flower path, which means I have now done all 3 of the lords' routes. That also means I was tempted and started a second Golden Deer run with NG+ because I fucking miss my kids and Claude. It'll also help me remember story events as I write this fanfic too.
> 
> If any of you are playing Pokemon Sword & Shield this weekend, I hope you all enjoy it! Alas, I cannot because it's getting closer to finals which means crunch time and _that_ means I'm gonna be stressed like hella until the end of the semester. Fun.
> 
> Also thank you for over 100 kudos! You folks are awesome! 🥰
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Sylvain is accepted as the first new addition to Byleth's class. Unbeknownst to her, however, his intentions are fueled by a personal desire for her rather than an academic one. Rhea's new monthly assignment is to cleanup the aftermath of a rebellion led by Lord Lonato, Ashe's adoptive father. In the meeting, she's introduced to Catherine, one of the strongest of all the Knights of Seiros. In order to assess her current skill level, she agrees to Catherine's suggestion that they spar later in the day. In between waiting, Byleth does her best to comfort a distraught Ashe in the cathedral. Unsure of how to make him feel better, she allows him to train with her class for the current month and attend the mission when he asks. As Byleth and Catherine spar in the knight's hall, Dimitri, Dedue, and Felix observe to varying degrees of awe. Byleth loses the match, but it earns her Catherine's trust in her competence. If someone this strong is to be leading the knights against Lord Lonato, Byleth can only worry about the effect it'll have on her students.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ X ⧽  
  
Red-Tailed Fawn

**_3rd of the Garland Moon, 1180 _**━

Claude makes it a point to remember faces. A handy skill he’s learned at a young age. So when he notices a new yet familiar one in the class, he can’t help but be curious.

“I wonder,” he starts aloud, because said guy just happens to be in the seat next to his at the front of the room, “what’s a lion cub doing in the glade of fawns?”

“Hey, morning Claude!” greets Sylvain. “You sit here? Didn’t mean to take your seat.”

“No no, it’s fine. My seat’s the aisle one.” He sits down, putting on his best smile. “You here to ask a question? Chat with Hilda or something?”

Sylvain grins wide. “Nah, I’m gonna be in this class for the rest of the year.”

“_Really_ now?” He feigns surprise—because honestly, it was only a matter of time until the redhead joined the Deer. Claude’s got a few ideas as to why Sylvain suddenly transferred over. All of them have to do with Byleth. Of that he’s absolutely positive.

He’s just not quite sure why Byleth signed off on it in the first place.

“Yeah,” answers Sylvain. “I figured the professor’s teaching style would work better than Hanneman’s. He’s kinda stuffy, and somewhat boring. No offense to the guy.”

“Then I guess welcome to our little humble abode, Gautier.”

“Thanks!”

“_But_,” his smile warps into a smirk, “what is it about Teach that made you wanna join our little crew? Call me curious.” He knows full well exactly why, but he wants to see what kind of excuse Sylvain can come up with.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it as Byleth walks into the room then. When she sees Sylvain, she greets him a good morning. The rest of the class is seated and Byleth calls Sylvain up to the front. He stands beside her, hands in his pockets. Side by side, he towers over her in height. Has she always been that small? Claude passes her by a good number of inches too, but to see it from someone else…

“Good morning, everyone. We have a new addition to our class,” Byleth starts. “He’ll be with us for the rest of the year.”

“Hey there! I’m Sylvain José Gautier!” He gives a friendly wave and charming smile. “Feel free to talk to me whenever and wherever. I’m from the Blue Lions house, but I hope to become an honorary Deer, at least.” From his pocket, he pulls out an apple. Giving it a quick toss in his hand, he presents it to Byleth. “For you, Professor. An apple a day keeps the healer away.”

Oh, this guy’s not messing around.

“Thank you, Sylvain.” Byleth places it on her desk on top of a book. “I’ll snack on it while you’re all working. Please have a seat so I can start.”

He returns to his spot next to Claude. Sylvain only smiles at him before taking out a piece of parchment. The guy’s quiet as Byleth lectures, scribbling down whatever she writes on the chalkboard. From what Claude’s heard of him, Sylvain isn’t the most studious pupil in the class. He’d much rather ogle his female peers during lectures, much to Dimitri’s frustration.

But that’s probably because his previous professor was a quirky old man and not an absurdly young hot woman.

Objectively speaking. Obviously.

During their short 10 minute break Byleth allots between subjects, she munches on the apple as she looks through her notes for the next lesson. It makes Sylvain smile as he leans his head on his hand, elbow propped up on the table.

“I knew it,” he starts. “This class is definitely more my style.” He glances at Claude, smirking. “You get what I’m saying, Riegan? You gotta, considering where you’re sitting. Pretty crafty picking the perfect spot to pay attention. All the right angles.”

Ah, and there it is. His true colors. Claude _so_ does love being right about everything.

“Oh you bet. Teach won’t get in the way when I’m trying to write down the notes from the board.” He plays the fool because the role has allowed him to pick up on things he would’ve otherwise missed. Body language, facial cues, tone of voice. Yes, being an idiot has its perks.

“Seriously? You’re wasting your spot! Trade me.”

“Nah,” he grins wide, hands settling behind his head, “I’m good. This’s been my seat since day one, and I’m pretty cozy here.”

“C’mon, man.” Sylvain leans in closer, lowering his voice. “You’re telling me that you look at the board the _entire _time? Especially when what’s in front of it is a lot more interesting?”

“You know what, you’re absolutely right. That dark walnut desk is one of the sexiest I’ve seen in all my 17 years of life. Mm-hmm.” He gives the polished surface a one-over. “Look at those rounded corners and wood textures. Hot _damn_.”

Sylvain gives him a flat stare. “Alright, Riegan. I get it.”

“Do you really, Gautier?”

“What do you want for your seat?”

“Are you serious?” he asks, nearly laughing. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know what I’m about. So name your price.”

He’s truly a desperate case. Claude would find it pathetic if the opportunity of toying with this womanizer wasn’t so enticing.

“My price, huh?” Claude taps his chin, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t particularly need anything right now. But,” he glances at Sylvain, folding his hands in front of him, “how about we play a game instead?”

“What kind of game?”

“Beat me at chess, and I’ll give up my seat. For a month.”

“_Just_ a month?”

Claude shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

Sylvain pouts, looking back to Byleth when she announces the break is over. He stares at her as she turns around to write more notes on the board.

“Fine.” He holds out his hand. Claude reaches to grab it, but Sylvain pulls it back. “Nah-ah, you only shake if you’re gonna keep your word.”

“Oh I will; I’m not concerned with losing.”

“That confident, huh?”

“You have no idea.” Claude offers his hand to shake, but he pulls his back instead. “Hold on, we haven’t discussed what I’d get if I win.”

“You get to keep your seat. What else could you want?”

“A favor.”

“That’s it? Okay, sure. What kind of favor?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Sylvain narrows his eyes at him, studying his face. Claude keeps his easy smile, holding out his hand again. Byleth still hasn’t turned around; she speaks as she draws a diagram near a paragraph of text. Sylvain hesitantly takes his hand, and gives it a firm shake.

“Deal.” The other boy smiles then.

_This’ll be fun._

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Later that day after dinner, Claude waits for Sylvain in the reception hall with the chess set. He’s played this game more times than the number of stars in the night sky. He’s tried every angle with every opponent of every skill level so far. Sylvain doesn’t stand a chance.

“About time you showed up,” Claude says when the other boy walks toward him. “Thought you might’ve chickened out.”

“I had a hot date before this,” he replies, slipping into the seat in front of him. “But now I’m in the zone. No distractions.” He leans his forearms on the table. “Hey, that’s a nice chess set. Where’d you get it?”

It’s not anything fancy. Pretty small. All the pieces and the board are made of dark red-colored and white-colored wood coated in lacquer. It’s foldable so the pieces can be stored inside. “Bought it myself some time ago. Can’t remember where.”

Sylvain takes one of the pieces, examining it. “They look worn. You play a lot?”

“Perhaps. But we’re not here to chit-chat, are we? Pick your side.”

“I’ll take the red ones.”

The two of them lay out their pieces on the board. Sylvain is staring intently at the individual spaces, his eyes darting from one square to another. They haven’t even started yet, and already he’s surveying his outcomes.

Interesting.

“Being the generous man that I am,” Claude gestures to Sylvain with a flick of his wrist, “you can go first.”

“Alright.” He moves the pawn two spaces forward. Starting slow. Not a bad strategy. Claude does the same on the other side.

He’s glad that he practiced ever since class ended. For all his horny foolishness, Sylvain is sharper than he makes himself appear to be. Claude is absolutely sure of this after the guy takes his rook and sets it alongside the few other pieces he’s won over the past half-hour.

“You’re no slouch,” Claude comments, keeping his focus on the board.

“I played this a lot when I was a kid. I still do, actually. Felix always gets angry when I beat him. Ingrid doesn’t care to play much, but Dimitri tries his best. He came close to beating me once, but he made a careless move with the knight that gave me the victory.”

“Didn’t think you’d be interested in stuff like this.” Claude moves the bishop forward. “Doesn’t seem like your style.”

Sylvain smiles. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Riegan.”

He can’t help but grin in response. “Do tell, Gautier.”

“Now where’d be the fun in that?” he asks with a chuckle. Sylvain moves his knight to Claude’s bishop, effectively adding it to his pile. He shakes his head, sucking the air between his teeth. “Doesn’t look good for you, my dude.”

Claude shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He picks up one of the pawns and sets it down on a new square. “That all depends on what your next move is gonna be.” Sylvain only has three options without leaving the king piece vulnerable. And two of those are so easy to miss.

“Guess I better make it count.” He taps his finger on the table absentmindedly as he takes a while to examine the board. “Need that seat, even if only for a month.”

“You really wanna sit there, don’t you? I’d think it wouldn’t matter where as long as you can see Teach. Not like her beauty suddenly disappears if you sit further away.”

A wide grin cracks on his face. “So you admit she’s a babe.”

“Well, I dunno if you’ve noticed, but I _do_ have eyes.”

He makes a non-committal hum. “Green’s a nice color. Looks good on you.”

It’s Claude’s turn to smile. “Flirting with your opponent? You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Hey,” Sylvain holds his hands up in front of him, “I can appreciate a guy’s looks. You’ve got a nice face, Riegan.” He rubs at his chin, focus steady on Claude. “If you were my type, I’d totally hit on you.”

“I feel like you’re hitting on me now.”

“Is it working?” Sylvain asks with a wink.

Claude laughs. “You’re a looker yourself, Gautier. Unfortunately for you and every man to ever exist, I’m not interested. But even if the universe had aligned in the way you’d hope, you wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

“Bet I could.”

“No, no you really couldn’t,” he adds with a smirk. “But I have to say I’m impressed. You do live up to your reputation, hitting on anything that moves.”

Sylvain fakes a hurt gasp, shaking his head. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Friends, huh? You need to unlock a few more doors for us to get there. Although I am enjoying getting to know the newest fawn in our house.”

“And I’m enjoying already being in here.” Sylvain focuses back on the board. “For many, many reasons. The professor’s pencil skirt she wore today is one of them. It wasn’t the only thing tight about her either.”

He knows exactly what Sylvain’s referring to, but Claude’s at least decent enough to keep thoughts like that to himself. Objective thoughts. Extremely objective, observational and unbiased thoughts. Like he said before, he _does_ have eyes, perfectly functional ones. And Byleth _is_ an attractive person, both in body and face.

Not that _he_ personally thinks she is. These said things just so happen to be shaped in a way that is attractive to the general populace. Everyone can see it. It’s not just him.

Right. Definitely not.

“If you’re done salivating,” and Claude feels like Sylvain very well might just start too, “I’d like to bring the focus back in to our wager. It’s still your move.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.”

Their game lasts another half-hour. Not that he minds all that much. Patience is a virtue, one he’s learned pays off if you wait just the right amount of time in situational circumstances. This happens to be one of them. Sylvain goes off topic again, talking about all the other girls he finds cute in the Golden Deer house (Claude _may_ have sparked the conversation _accidentally_), and it’s just enough of a distraction for Claude to not only snag Sylvain’s queen piece for his spoils, but move his own queen to knock the king right off the board.

“Check-and-mate.” Claude wiggles the king piece between his fingers. “No aisle seat for you, Gautier. So sad.”

“Man, I was so close too! I haven’t lost at this game in forever!” Sylvain slumps forward, pouting. “Best two out of three?”

“Nope. That wasn’t the deal. You win some, you lose some.”

“I feel like you tricked me somehow.”

“No, Sylvain,” Claude gathers the pieces to put them back inside the board, “I’m just that good. You know what that means?” He closes the box with a snap, leaning over the table. “You owe me a favor.”

Sighing, the other boy crosses his arms. “Alright, what do you want?”

“That decision’s pending.”

“Oh c’mon, this is stuff you gotta think about before we play.”

“I did. And I’m saving my owed favor for a later date. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure it’s not something humiliating. Probably.”

Sylvain gives him a look before his expression relaxes. “Fine. You won, fair in square.” He stands up, Claude rising to meet him. “Decent game. We should play again sometime.” He holds out his hand for a shake.

“Sure.” Claude returns the gesture. “I’d love to, if only so I can mark up the tallies of how many wins I get over you.”

“You think I’m that easy?”

“The amount of girls I see you with daily says you are.”

He laughs, one that sounds more genuine that the previous times. Claude finds himself smiling in tandem. “Alright, I walked right into that one.”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Wednesday the 5th of that week, Byleth goes in early to the classroom. She finds that if she writes the lesson notes up before class starts, she’ll have more time to lecture. Another reason for it is that she wants to get there before Sylvain does.

On Sunday when she was gardening with Ashe, he had mentioned that Sylvain’s birthday was this week. It was all he had been talking about with the Blue Lions, apparently. (And with anyone else who’d listen around the monastery too.) Something or other about girls flocking to him on his special day, and Ashe didn’t need to get into details about how Sylvain would probably be spending his evening on such an important date.

“Should I get him something?” she had asked. “I don’t know what he likes. And I don’t know if it’s appropriate for professors to give birthday gifts to their students.”

“Flowers would be nice,” he suggested. “Maybe some blue ones. I can help pick them out for you if you want, Professor. I don’t think it’ll be weird to get him something simple like that.”

Since then, she’s been keeping an eye on the flowers in the greenhouse. Before coming to class today, Ashe had helped her pick out a nice white pot to set them in and even tied a bow around it. Byleth places her gift on Sylvain’s desk, stares, and then takes it back.

She’s not supposed to show special treatment to anyone. Better to store it under her desk and wait until lunch to give it to him.

Morning lecture goes smoothly. She notices that Claude and Sylvain chat among themselves during their short 10 minute breaks. She’s glad they’re getting along. A part of her wonders if Sylvain misses his Blue Lions classmates. He seems like a sociable person, so maybe he can make acquaintances and friends anywhere.

When the cathedral bell gongs for the lunch hour, Byleth asks Sylvain to stay behind class. Other students give them curious looks, but don’t pay them much more mind than that.

“You could’ve said earlier that you wanted to be alone with me,” he says, that lopsided smile on his lips. “I would’ve cleared my schedule just for you.”

“No, that’s not it.” Byleth hands him the pot of flowers. “Happy Birthday.”

He grins wide, “Oh hey, these are nice!” and takes the bundle. “Thanks so much, Professor. A gift from you is a treasure. I’ll make sure to keep these healthy. But,” he gently sets the flowers on his desk, “since it _is_ my special day, I was wondering if you could keep me company. Not for the whole day—I have other plans, but maybe for lunch.”

If Sothis would’ve been awake right now, she probably would’ve screamed in her ear to ignore his request and go. But she’s not, and Byleth _is_ hungry.

“Okay. Only because it’s your birthday.”

He makes a fist pump in the air. The smile on his face is the biggest she’s seen yet. “Then let’s not waste any more time! After you, milady.” He bows, gesturing to the door.

Weird, but she goes on ahead of him anyway. She feels him staring at her back, though he walks in step with her before she can tell him anything. He talks about how he’s going to spend his day. First with his friends from the Blue Lions, and later in the evening he has a date. One that’s going to end up with said date quickly walking right out of his room the next morning if things go well.

“You sound busy,” she comments as they sit underneath the gazebo where other tables are set out.

“It’s gonna be an eventful day.” He takes a bite of the dessert they got. Peach sorbet. Not necessarily one of Sylvain’s favorites, but the warm summer day calls for a refreshing snack. She notices he also has some jelly-filled bread rolls.

“Do you like sweets?” she asks, just to make conversation.

“I don’t have a huge sweet tooth, but I do like to eat them.” Sylvain offers her a spoonful of the peach dessert. “Want a bite, Professor? It’s good, I promise.”

Byleth leans in and he smiles, only for it to fall as she takes the spoon from him. Maybe he hoped to do that thing she’s seen couples do, feeding each other despite them having perfectly capable hands. Just because it’s his birthday doesn’t mean she’ll fulfill every whim of his.

“It’s good,” she says. “Peaches are tasty.”

“Aren’t they? One of my favorite fruits, honestly. You wanna know why?”

Something tells her that she doesn’t, in fact, want to know. The sly smile on his lips and his raised brow suggests he has something clever to say, or at least, some kind of euphemism that’ll forever taint her perception of fruit. (Maybe later she’ll ask Claude. His flirtations are, at least, harmless.)

“This weekend,” better to change the subject, “I want to spar with you in the training grounds. I need to assess your current skill level before we head out to intercept Lord Lonato.”

His face takes a more serious expression now. “Oh, of course. You want me to come along even though I’m so new?”

“We’re traveling to your home country, so yes. I’d also like you to help me train Ashe.”

“Ashe? Why? He’s not in the class.”

“No, but he asked to come along, so he’ll be joining our training sessions this month.”

Sylvain pokes the spoon into the peach sorbet. He frowns, fist pressed against his cheek. “You think it’ll be a good idea to bring him along, Professor? I know he asked you, but, we’re going to be fighting his dad. If we can’t spare Lord Lonato, it’ll hurt him for a long time. Ashe shouldn’t have to see that. He’s a good kid.”

He has a point, but she’s already committed to Ashe’s request. Maybe there’s a way to eradicate the remainder of the rebellion without killing the man. She’ll have to talk to Catherine about it later. “I know. That’s why I want to prepare him. You were in his house, so you know him better than I do. If you help me, I’d be grateful, Sylvain.”

The smile returns then as he looks at her. “Sure thing. I’ll clear my weekends all this month.” He takes another bite of the sorbet. “The lovely professor being grateful, toward me. Now that’s the sweetest kind of flavor there is.”

Ignoring him, she goes back to her own food. Sylvain starts up another conversation when she asks about the jelly rolls. They’re one of his favorite desserts called Sweet Bun Trio, named as such because they’re always made with exactly three different kinds of fruit. A popular snack in Faerghus both with kids and with anyone who likes treats. Offering her one, she takes it with a thanks. Powdered sugar coats the warm bun and the jelly tastes like some kind of berry she’s never had. But it’s not overly sweet, and even slightly tart.

Sylvain reaches over to her. He swipes his thumb at the corner of her lips. “Got some sugar here. Anyone ever tell you you’ve got the cutest mouth?” He moves his hand away before she can think about swatting it. “I bet pink would look good on those nice, soft lips.”

“Pink is a nice color, but I don’t care for things like that.”

“And that’s absolutely okay. You’d be beautiful even covered in swamp water and twigs.”

“I’d look like a swamp witch.”

“The prettiest one of them all! No one said witches had to be gross.”

“So,” she pauses, staring at him, “you think I’m a witch then. A hag. Your professor, the Old Hag Byleth. Warts and all.”

His shakes his head, waving his hands around in protest. “No no, that’s not what I—all I was saying is—”

“I know, Sylvain. I was kidding.”

Again he stares at her, looking dumbfounded, until a toothy grin cracks along his face. “My professor? The calm and collected warrior, trying to kid around? With _me_? Today really is my birthday!” He laughs.

Byleth plucks another jelly bun from his plate. “I think Claude’s nonchalance is rubbing off on me. He says I need to lighten up just a little bit, although I think his light could use some dimming in the classroom.”

“Spend a lot of time with him?”

She hums, stuffing the pastry in her mouth. “I wouldn’t say a lot. But he’s my partner, so, we just end up that way.”

“Your… partner?”

Though Sylvain is still smiling, it’s weaker than before. Odd. “Yeah,” she starts to explain, “because I’m the professor and he’s the house leader. We’ll need to work as a team to get through this school year. Isn’t it like that with Dimitri and Hanneman? Or Edelgard and Manuela?”

“They work together, sure, but I don’t think they’d ever call each other ‘partners’. It’s a little too… informal. But I guess Claude’s not really a formal kind of guy, is he?”

“He’s as casual as they come. I like that about him.”

She doesn’t know why she said it, and she doesn’t know why Sylvain mutters a, “Huh, I see,” before looking off to the side, vaguely contemplative. Did she say something wrong? It was just a compliment about the Golden Deer leader. More of a fact, really, than anything else. She’s allowed to compliment her students.

“Professor,” he starts after a few minutes of silent munching, “when’s your birthday?”

“It’s Horsebow Moon, the 20th. Why?”

Sylvain looks to her again with his usual cheerful expression. Whatever he had been thinking about is gone without a trace of it on his features. “I’d like to repay you for spending time with me today. How about I take you to dinner on your birthday? Just you and me.”

“That sounds like you’re fishing for a date.”

He makes a pained sound, dramatically clutching his chest. “That would be inappropriate, Professor! _Unless_,” the faux hurt is washed away and replaced with his usual smoldering gaze he gives to whatever attractive girl happens to be nearby, “that’s what you want. Because it can and will be arranged with glee,” he adds with a wink.

“I don’t celebrate my birthday. I never found it necessary.”

Looking genuinely surprised, Sylvain replies, “Seriously? Birthdays are great. Everyone should celebrate living another year.” He taps his finger on the spoon handle. “Oh! How about we mark down when everyone’s birthday is from the class? That way we can celebrate it together. Or at least sing the birthday song.”

That’s actually a good idea. Besides, she doesn’t want it known that Sylvain is the only student she spent time with on their birthday. Maybe the birthdays of some of those on her roster have already passed, and she never noticed. That would look bad.

“Okay. Tomorrow I’ll ask when everyone’s birthdays are so we can celebrate them. Thank you for the suggestion, Sylvain.”

“Happy to help!”

They spend the remainder of their time making idle chatter. Ever since sitting down underneath the gazebo, Byleth has noticed that other students or monastery residents eye the two of them with curiosity. Even when the bell tolls for the end of the lunch hour, they still get a few stares their way.

She can only guess about what they’re thinking. Maybe they’re wondering why in the goddess’ name is she spending time alone with the local lothario when she could be doing other things like… grading papers? Or maybe her being as young as the students is giving people ideas she doesn’t want to entertain right now.

Sylvain seems to be none the wiser, continuing up the conversation as they head back to class, hands tucked in his pockets. When he asks her questions about the simplest of things, such as the flowers she gifted him, he smiles as he listens to her explain how Ashe helped her pick them out. Not a teasing smile, or a flirtatious smolder. Just ‘a’ smile. Almost as if he genuinely enjoys chatting with her.

He’s on his best behavior for the rest of the lecture, and after class, he gives her another thank you for the gift and for spending time with him.

Later, when she takes her students out to train at the end of the week, Ashe mentions that Sylvain has been asking him about plant care advice.

“I think he really likes the flowers you got him,” he says. “He made a space for them in his room near the windowsill. The other day he got nervous he watered them too much and asked me if they’d be alright.”

Byleth rubs the blade of her sword against a whetstone. “I’m glad he likes the flowers. Thank you for helping me pick them out, Ashe.”

“Of course, Professor! Any time.” Ashe tightens the string on his bow, watching Sylvain and Leonie exchange a few swings with the lance. “You know, if you ignore what people say about his, uh, flirting habits, he’s actually nice to be around. Oh, and when he’s not thinking about girls. Which he thinks about a lot, so…,” he gives a small chuckle, “I guess that makes it sound like those nicer moments don’t come around often.”

Sylvain is knocked off his feet by Leonie who gives a victorious shout. He takes his loss easily and accepts the hand she offers to help him up. Byleth can’t hear what he says, but she guesses he thanked the other girl for a good match. Or at least something that wouldn’t end in a slap across the face. Leonie nods and gives him a gentle punch to the arm which he dramatically pretends pushes him back. She shakes her head and he laughs.

When he spots Byleth looking at them, he waves at her before walking off toward Ignatz, watching him shoot at the targets nailed on the trees. When he doesn’t get the bullseye, Sylvain mumbles to him, pointing in the direction of the tree, and pats his shoulder. Whatever it is, it’s enough for Ignatz to try again. Though he doesn’t hit the bullseye, the arrow is lodged in the ring just before it. Sylvain cheers and Ignatz smiles up at him before trying again.

“No,” Byleth says to Ashe, “I can believe it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually throws in bits of Claudevain because I can.
> 
> Why didn't they get supports together? -shakes IntSys- WHY DIDN'T YOU GIVE THEM A SUPPORT CHAIN AT LEAST UP TO B-RANK???? They're such similar characters in personality, charms, and flaws and I want to see how they'd interact!! Especially later in the game where Claude is like, "I want to end racism, prejudice, and discrimination of all types because it breeds ignorance and harms humanity as a whole" and Sylvain would be like, "Cheers, I'll drink to that bro". Hello??
> 
> This is a travesty and no one is giving me food so I guess I have to feed myself. The consequences of liking rarepairs.
> 
> Anyway, lol Claude your crush on Teach is starting to sprout and the more you deny it the worse it's gonna get for you. Though I like to think Claude realizes his feelings for her way sooner than Byleth realizes her feelings for him. All will unfold in due time. I can't wait to write the scenes of when they each come to this revelation, hee hee.
> 
> There's a chance I might not update next weekend. Like I said in the first chapter's notes, I'll only update this story if I'm 5 chapters ahead in my drafts. Because of school, I barely finished Chapter 14. Depending on how things go, you folks won't be getting another update until the first weekend of December. The decision isn't finalized, but I wanted to make a note here just in case.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	11. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Sylvain is officially enrolled in Byleth's class. Noticing that Claude has the most "optimal" seat to ogle at their lovely professor, he tries to convince him to switch. Claude instead challenges him to a chess match: should Sylvain win, he'll get the seat for a month. Should he lose, then he owes Claude a favor. In the match, Claude realizes Sylvain is sharper than he acts, having taken a few of his pieces in a short time. Managing to secure a victory anyway, he decides to withhold his due favor for a later date. It's this that sparks the beginning of an unlikely friendship. That same week is Sylvain's birthday, so Byleth gifts him a pot of blue flowers. She also has lunch with him at his request on his special day. All attempted flirtations by him are rebuffed. Though, seeing him train with the other students over the weekend, and how encouraging he is with their progress, she fully believes Ashe when he says Sylvain is a pretty swell guy when he's not salivating over beautiful girls.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XI ⧽  
  
A Startling Discovery

**_9th of the Garland Moon, 1180 _**━

The first weekend’s training session went well. Ashe falls behind a little in aim compared to Ignatz, and isn’t as fast notching an arrow into the bow like Claude is. Hanneman had mentioned that while he tries to teach the Blue Lions about all types of weaponry, his expertise is in magic. Thankfully, Ignatz was more than willing to help Ashe out, as well as Claude (although he showed off a bit getting three arrows directly into the bullseye).

Usually, Byleth would have gone to the greenhouse for more gardening with Ashe in the morning, but she figures he could use some time to rest. She and her class were out training for most of the daylight hours. As much as she wants them to be prepared, she doesn’t want them overworked either.

She still goes to check on the flowers they planted last time, but on her way through the dorms, she’s flagged down by Dorothea. The girl looks every which way, red blotching her face.

“Hello Professor,” the girl greets.

“Good morning, Dorothea. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing really. It’s just, well,” she shifts on her feet, “you see, I was doing laundry earlier and then there was a draft—more like a strong gust, and some of my clothes I was drying on the line blew away. I managed to get most of them but, um… gosh this is so embarrassing…. Why me…?”

Dorothea steps closer, lowering her voice. “M-My underwear are missing. They’re a pale blue, and have a cute lace trim but—,” she squeals, covering her face as is gets redder, “oh of _all_ the things in my laundry to have gone missing, it _had_ to be that!”

“I can help you find them.” It’s not like she has anything important planned for today anyway.

The girl gasps, latching her hands onto Byleth’s shoulders. “Oh Professor, I would be so, _so_ grateful if you did! I wasn’t sure if I should tell Manuela or what but—you’re a blessing!”

“You’re on first-name basis with Manuela?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? We were in the same opera company back in the Empire. She was the top diva and like a mentor to the—,” Dorothea shakes her head, “I can tell you all about it later. Just please, please help me find the ‘thing’. I _don’t_ want to think about what someone might be doing with it.”

“No worries. I’ll start looking near the sauna.”

Dorothea gives her thanks again, saying she’ll keep looking around the dorms. Byleth then makes her short trip to the building behind the sauna. It’s the washroom where all the monastery’s laundry is done, and behind that is one of the latrines, the biggest one in the entire complex.

Other students and some of the knights are folding their laundry back into the baskets or setting them on the various lines. She asks around if anyone has seen a pair of pale blue panties, but no luck. Dorothea probably doesn’t want people to know, but Byleth figures so long as she doesn’t say who lost them, it’s fine if they think they belong to her instead.

_You have no sense of shame, do you?_

_They’re just underwear._

_Which are articles of clothing that should be kept away from the public eye._

_People make a big deal out of nothing. But Dorothea isn’t me, so if others believe those panties are mine, they won’t ever suspect her and she’ll be spared even more embarrassment. Otherwise her face might catch on fire._

She does find out that a few students from before had to scramble to pick up their laundry from the earlier gust. One boy tells her it blew from behind and toward the right in the direction of the training grounds.

Byleth wanders randomly when she gets there, looking behind every pillar and target post. The only ones around are Raphael and Caspar, each of them punching a haystack dummy with their gauntlets.

“Raphael,” Byleth starts, “I thought I mentioned yesterday that you should all take a break today.”

He gives a shout as he punches the dummy in the chest, knocking it off its wooden mount. “Aww shoot, I broke it again….” He gives a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping, then turns to her. “I know, Professor. But I wanna be ready for our mission this month. That little guy Ashe will need protection! I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“That’s admirable, but you need to relax your muscles as much as you train them. Otherwise, what good are they if you’re too tired to fight when it matters?”

“Gosh, I didn’t think about that.” Raphael removes the gauntlets, letting them clang on the floor. “Guess we oughta take a break, Caspar.”

The other boy gives a yell, striking the dummy in the face. “_Man_ that feels good!” He catches his breath, and gives an upbeat whoop. “But the professor’s probably right. We’ll continue this after lunch.” Caspar drops the gauntlets next to the dummy. “We really worked up a sweat this time though. Phew!”

“Don’t over exert yourself either, Cas—what is that?”

“Huh, this?” Caspar wipes down the sweat from his face with a blue rag. A _pale_ blue rag that is too soft and decorative to be here. “Oh I found it on the floor over there!” He points to a far corner of the arena. “I figured I could use it to wipe off my sweat since it was kinda dirty anyway when I found it. Wonder who left it here? Kind of a fancy rag—hey!” Byleth snatches it from him. “Professor, what’s the deal?”

“Caspar, you shouldn’t wipe your face with things you’ve found on the floor. They’re dirty and could have all kinds of bacteria that’ll make you sick. Especially after training when your pores are open to sweat. If you’re sick, you can’t train. I think you should go to the infirmary just as a precaution. Punching a sickness away won’t work. It’d be a good idea to take some medicine.”

“Oh man,” Raphael starts with a worried look, “Caspar we better go get you some. You don’t wanna get sick! The gauntlet tournament is next month!”

“Aww shoot!” Caspar’s brow furrows with concern. “Yeah that’d suck if I couldn’t participate after all of that! Geez, thanks for the head’s up, Professor.”

“No problem. Go before the lunch bell rings, otherwise Manuela might not be there. And please, Raphael, take today off. We’re going to do more training this whole week, I promise.”

“Gotcha, Professor. C’mon Caspar, let’s get you that medicine. I don’t wanna be the last one in line in the dining hall! They’re serving meat skewers again!”

“Yeah, okay! Race you?”

“First one to the infirmary has to share their dessert!”

Both boys give a battle cry as they run out of the training grounds. Byleth gives a light sigh before heading back to the dorms.

Dorothea is still there, mumbling to herself as she looks behind every bush and crate along the first floor. When she spots Byleth, she runs up to her, asking, “Please tell me you had better luck in your search, Professor….”

She takes out the panties from her pocket, and Dorothea nearly shrieks. Quickly she hides them away in her blazer, face red again. “Where were they?!”

“In a corner of the training grounds. No one saw them,” she lies. “But they were dirty when I found them. Better wash them right away.”

“Of course, of course! Oh you don’t know how happy you’ve made me, Professor!” She gives her a big hug, and only after the fact asks, “You don’t mind hugs, right?”

Truthfully, Byleth isn’t used to hugs. Though she knows Jeralt loves her as a father would, he’s not the most physically affectionate person. She’s only been hugged once as a child after she had wandered around in the forest by herself. When Jeralt found her, he held her in his arms for what seemed like hours.

But that was a long time ago.

“Hugs are fine,” she replies. “I’m just not used to them.”

“Well then I’ll make sure to give you hugs wherever I can! If you want, of course.” Dorothea grins at her before giving her another hug. “Thank you so much, Professor. I’ll pay you back for this!” She runs off to the laundry room, and Byleth heads to the dining hall when the gonging bell welcomes the afternoon.

  
  
  
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She finds a disgruntled Hanneman near the lunch line, mumbling something to himself. He already has his food tray, so she’s not so sure why he’s just standing around. Maybe he’s waiting for someone? This’ll give her time to get some business with him out of the way.

“Hello, Professor Hanneman,” Byleth greets after she gets her own lunch. There’s Daphnel stew today—a soup she’s never had so Claude can’t tell her she has to try something different, gosh darn it. “I was wondering if we could talk over lunch.”

“Oh, Professor Byleth. Yes, hello. Sorry, I was—ugh, that Manuela.” He looks to her, his brow furrowed in frustration. “Did you know? I let her borrow a book recently and when it was returned, the pages were all bent! There was also a dubious stain on the back cover. And, as I was waiting in line just a few minutes ago, I saw her drop her sandwich. Then she snatched it from the floor saying, ‘three second rule!’” he mocks in a higher pitch, “and started eating it just like that! Absolutely revolting!”

“We can’t waste food.”

Hanneman sputters, staring at her with wide eyes. “Professor, please. It’s better to waste it than invite all that bacteria and other pathogens into your body. She’s a physician, for goddess’ sake.” He gives a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. “Let’s not prolong this conversation. I just want to eat and forget. Oh.” He blinks. “You were saying something before. My apologies. What was it?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Ashe.”

“Is he doing alright?”

“Yes, but I wanted to know if he’s had his certification exam yet.”

The two of them take a seat at an empty spot along the benched tables. Hanneman eats a little of his food first before replying, “Ashe met the qualifications last week, although I have yet to give him the exam. Are you asking because you want him certified before your class’ mission?”

Byleth nods. “This weekend I trained with him, and he’s doing well. But I’d feel more comfortable bringing him along knowing that he’s skilled enough to survive the trip. I’m going to recommend some of my own students take the exams as well. A lot of them are ready, I feel.”

“You’re making quite a lot of progress with your class,” he comments with a smile. “I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, your combat expertise during the mock battle was something to behold.”

“Thank you. But I’m just teaching them a mix of what my father taught me and my own personal style. Nothing more.”

Hanneman sets his fork down after another bite. “Don’t discredit yourself, Professor. Someone of your age being able to help cultivate the minds of the students, it’s something to be proud of.” Clearing his throat, he continues, “I don’t mean to sound pushy or anything of the sort, but with your ability, I can’t help but wonder if you have a Crest.”

“A person’s abilities are determined by their hard work, not something biological like a Crest. In my opinion, anyway.”

He shakes his head, quickly saying, “No, no no of course. I didn’t mean to offend, Professor. But there are advantages to be gained in battle if one has a Crest. If it bothers you that much, then I won’t bring it up again.”

She doubts that, considering it’s his area of expertise. He won’t be able to help but chatter on about how fascinating Crests are. Although, it wouldn’t hurt just to satiate his curiosity. He’ll be disappointed, but at least he’ll have an answer.

“You can test me for a Crest if it’s that important to your research,” Byleth says.

His face lights up immediately, a large smile evident by the way his mustache curves. “Excellent! After we finish here, let’s head back to my office. Actually, I should go there now. I’ve got to prepare!” Hanneman takes his tray, “Don’t rush; it’s fine! You just take your time and I shall be waiting with bated breath!” before briskly walking out of the building.

She meets him again about half an hour later in his office. The food tray is on his desk, untouched. Unlike Manuela’s, his space is neatly organized with shelves and shelves of books, scrolls, and dubious doodads. There’s a coatrack at the corner near the entrance, and a large window streams in sunlight to the room colored in dark blues and purples.

Hanneman is at the center of the room tinkering with some large circular device embedded on the floor. “Ah, Professor! It’s just about ready—and there.” The device glows with a soft blue light. Hanneman stands to close the door, gesturing to the thing. “All you have to do is hover your hand over this, and I’ll be able to tell what your Crest is.”

Byleth does as she’s told. The device pulsates with the light, going dull for a moment, before a strange pattern is drawn on its glass surface. Its curls remind her of the lattice work within the cathedral and the decorative accents on the school uniforms.

“What is this?!” Hanneman exclaims, eyes wide. He adjusts his monocle, staring at the pattern. “Professor, I know you said you were born a commoner, but by the goddess, you have a Crest!”

“That’s not possible,” she says, shaking her head. “My father would’ve told me if I had one. And it’s never activated before. Maybe your machine is broken.” Or maybe she’s trying to get rid of this puckering feeling of… something. A heavy weight in her core that’s starting to make an impression within her ribcage.

“No, I designed this device myself with the utmost care! It’s not wrong!” He grins then, actually looking like a child who just received a sack full of candy. Noticing her standing still, he says, “Professor, I dare say I don’t think I’ve ever seen you frown before. Why would you do so now? This is an amazing discovery!”

Byleth touches the corners of her lips. She can’t feel it, but if Hanneman says she’s frowning, then maybe she is. “I’m not a Crest scholar like you, so it’s why I don’t share in your excitement. I’m just… not sure how to absorb this information.”

Why would Jeralt not tell her that she has a Crest? Why hadn’t it activated at all, ever? Who exactly was her mother? And how many things has her father been keeping from her? She only recently found out he used to be a famed Knight of Seiros, the captain no less. Did her father meet her mother here in the monastery—which she also only recently learned is a place that exists?

Would Sothis know why this Crest resides within her?

“I see.” She blinks at Hanneman’s words, focusing her attention back to the elderly man. He rubs at his beard with a gloved hand. “Well, I can tell you more about your Crest if you’ll allow me to draw a blood sample from you. Not a lot; don’t worry. It’s a very small amount. Once I can determine what your Crest is, I’ll let you know so you can add it into the monastery’s faculty reco—”

“No.” Byleth shakes her head. “I don’t—Hanneman, I’ll let you draw a blood sample,” because she has to know now, “but under the condition that you keep it to yourself. You cannot tell anyone, no matter who they may be.”

“Why, if you don’t mind my curiosity?”

“I don’t have a particular reason. I just don’t want it known until I sort some things out first.”

He pauses, giving a low hum as he stares at the device, rubbing at his beard. “I suppose that’s fair. Personally, I’d be elated to have contributed to Crest research with an unknown sigil, but I respect your decision to want a bit of privacy about it. Very well. I’ll keep this between us.”

She’s quiet as he draws blood from her with a needle-like tool. A rubber tube is adjoined to it, and a tiny glass vial, about the size of her thumb, is attached at the end. Byleth watches as the red liquid fills it up sluggishly. Against Hanneman’s palm, it stands out and shines in the sunlight, almost like a ruby.

“That’s all I need,” he says, carefully wiping her skin with a sterilized cloth where the needle had been poked. “It will take me some time before I can get back to you, but rest assured it’s at the top of my research pile.”

Byleth rubs at her arm. “Okay. And, Professor Hanneman—”

“Yes, yes. You have my word as a scholar that I won’t tell anyone about this until you make the decision for yourself. But I have to be honest and say I eagerly await the day when you do.” He smiles at her, big and wide. “Thank you for giving me this delight today, Professor. I truly am appreciative.”

She can’t think of anything else to say except, “You’re welcome,” before she heads out the door.

Shutting it with a soft click, she sees something from the corner of her eye flit past at the far end of the hallway. A flash of gold, maybe? It was so fast that she thinks she might’ve imagined it. She shrugs it off with a hum as she walks away from the faculty rooms, heading to the staircase.

_I have a Crest. One Hanneman doesn’t even know about. But the question is why_?

  
  
  
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Over the next several days, Byleth tries to meet with her father. But he’s always held up by the knights, or off on short missions near and around Garreg Mach. A part of her wonders if Hanneman accidentally let it slip to Jeralt that he found out about her having a Crest, and so he’s been avoiding her. But her father isn’t that kind of person. He’d rather confront something than prolong it.

Speaking of, it’s been about a week and a half since Hanneman had drawn a sample. When she asked him about it the other day, he mentioned that the research is still underway. Apparently her Crest isn’t in any of his historical records, so he’s been spending a lot of time in the library. Something Ashe mentions to her as they return to the monastery after a shopping trip in the town.

“You’ve been falling behind in your studies?” she asks.

“No, we’ve just gone… slower, I guess, in learning the things we need to.” Ashe adjusts the sack of groceries in his arms. “Sometimes he’ll come late to class or dismiss it early. He won’t tell us why; only that he’s revisiting his research on Crests.”

“I’m sorry,” Byleth apologizes, then immediately closes her mouth.

“Whatever for?”

“That he’s not giving you his undivided attention as an instructor,” she quickly replies. “I wouldn’t want you to fall behind, especially since you’re taking extra time during your free days to train with my class.” She gestures to the sack in his arms. “And helping me with the chores, despite not being in my roster. If you need to keep up with your studies, I can tutor you, Ashe.”

“Don’t worry about me, Professor! I’ll be alright.” He pats the groceries, giving a sweet smile. “And I don’t mind, really! Your class has been nice; they’re so helpful! Sylvain also looks like he’s fit right in.”

He goes quiet then, pulling at a loose thread of the sack. “I wonder if, maybe I can also…”

Glancing away from her, his attention is caught by a vendor’s stall. “Oh! Would you mind holding this, Professor?” He hands her the sack of groceries. Ashe smiles as he examines a row of books. Picking one up, he says, “I haven’t seen this in ages! Excuse me,” he waves to the shop keep on the other side of her booth, “how much is this?”

“300 gold!” she chirps, her long red ponytail bouncing as she approaches.

He frowns a little, examining the spine. “That’s a little expensive for something like this. It’s an old book.”

“But it’s in mint condition, in addition to being one of the few copies left in this part of Fódlan. And you won’t find prices like mine anywhere else!”

Ashe remains frowning, tracing the spine with a finger. “Well, that’s okay.” He sets the book down. “I’m sure I’ll find it somewhere else.” He grabs the grocery sack, hefting it in his arms. “Professor, let’s look for another shop while we’re still in town. Maybe they’ll have it for less.”

“Hold on, hold on.” The woman waves for him to come back. “200 gold.”

“150 sounds better,” he suggests, looking over his shoulder.

“That’s half of the original price, kid! You’re crazy.”

He shrugs, and turns away. The woman groans in frustration, mumbling to herself before saying, “Fine, fine! How’s 180 sound? That’s better, right?”

His face lights up as he fishes the gold coins from his pocket. “Sounds good to me!” he exclaims, dropping them into her open palm. Byleth grabs the book for him. The title says, _Loog and the Maiden of Wind_. It’s nothing fancy, and it does look a little worn around the edges. It’s in decent condition, sure, but 300 was definitely too much for this.

To think Ashe could be this crafty when it comes to bargaining. Here she thought he was similar to Ignatz, a meek yet gentle boy with ‘the face of an angel’, as Claude had once put it. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at this. Those freckles and that sweet smile can probably disarm any shopkeeper thinking they can get their weight in gold out of him.

She should take him on more shopping trips, then. It’ll definitely save her a good amount of coin when she needs to buy supplies for the class (like he did today). Although, it’s probably bad form to do so. He’s not her student, and he might feel like she’s using him.

But he _could _be_._ If she invites him to join her class. She’ll have to see how he does in this month’s mission.

“Hey! Get back here!”

She’s broken from her thoughts when the woman yells after a man running away with one of her books. “Damn, it took me forever to get my hands on that one too! Just my luck. First I have to slash my prices, and then some lousy no-good crook comes to steal my wares. Anna,” she gives a heavy sigh, “today is just _not _your day.”

“I’ll catch him for you,” Ashe says, handing Byleth the sack of groceries. “Professor, I’ll see you at the monastery!” he shouts as he chases after the man.

“Ashe,” she calls after him, “you don’t even have your bow!”

“He’s fast,” the shop keeper, Anna, says. “But I doubt he’ll be able to catch him. You sure you shouldn’t follow? That man could have a dagger or something.”

She wants to, but the meat and vegetables will go bad if she waits around. Shaking her head, Byleth says, “No, he’ll be fine. I’ve been training him this whole month in close-range melee weapons for situations like these.”

“That kid called you, ‘Professor’, but you sure are young for one.”

“I get that a lot.”

Anna smiles, swiping a small tub of something from another one of her crates. “How about I offer you this? A face cream that’ll keep the wrinkles away! Guaranteed to work if you apply it three times a day! Only 450!”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

“Aww, c’mon. I just got robbed!”

Byleth places Ashe’s book inside the grocery sack. “Ashe will fix it, somehow. I believe in him.”

“Believing won’t pay me back for my losses, lady!”

She ignores her with a small good bye before heading back to the monastery.

Ashe still doesn’t show up when she gets there, or even after she’s put the groceries away and had asked Lysithea to hold onto the book meanwhile. Byleth waits by the grand entrance, staring out at the raised metal gate of the marketplace where people come and go. None of their faces are recognizable as her temporary charge.

“Professor! Good afternoon!” Anthony greets from his spot near the entrance doors. The afternoon light reflects off his silver helmet. “You waiting for someone?”

“I went shopping with Ashe earlier in the town. He said he’ll meet me back here, so I’m not leaving until I see him return.”

“You worried about him?”

She shakes her head. “Not necessarily. But I still would rather see him return unharmed.”

Anthony give a light chuckle. “You sure care about the students, huh? Even the ones not in your class. Most professors I’ve seen won’t go out of their way like this. Their care is restricted to the classroom and evaluation of grades and things.”

“Guess that’s another way I’m different, then.”

“That’s not a bad thing! I think it’s great you spend time with them outside of class. Wish my professor did that when I was a student. Maybe I would’ve had better marks….”

Byleth looks to him. “How long ago were you a student?”

“Uh, hmm…,” Anthony taps his chin, “like three years ago?” When Byleth continues staring at him, he gives a shy smile. “Yeah, I’m not that much older than a lot of the current students. I’ll be 21 this Blue Sea Moon!” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “But that’s why I’m here on guard duty at the entrance hall. Haven’t really done anything to, erm, I guess ‘prove’ I’m ready for fieldwork.”

“You can’t fight?”

“I can!” He stands up straighter, his grip firm on the lance as he taps the butt end of it on the ground. “You don’t get to be a knight here if you _can’t_ fight. I just wasn’t outstanding at anything.”

“But you’re here guarding at the entrance to the monastery. The one and only Gatekeeper. That’s a pretty important job, just not as flashy as riding on a horse into battle. You’re the first line of defense—watching people come and go, making sure no shady characters are loitering around. You save everyone a lot of trouble.”

Anthony smiles, tilting his helmet down with a hand. “Aww, geez Professor. You didn’t need to say that! I’m gonna blush!” He gives a timid chuckle. “But I guess that’s true. I like talking to folks. Even if they kinda just brush right past.”

“That’s rude. More people should talk to you, or at least say hello. You’re pleasant company.”

He makes some kind of embarrassed sound, scratching the butt end of the lance on the floor. Anthony clears his throat, straightening his posture. “Anyway, thanks for chatting with me every now and again, Professor. Sometimes it gets lonely just… standing here.”

“I’ll visit whenever I can, Anthony. That’s a promise.”

Not wanting to further distract him from his task, Byleth bids him a good afternoon. She waits by the gate instead, fingers fidgeting at her sides when she still doesn’t see Ashe. Tapping the hilt of her sword, she steps forward to make the trip back to town, when she sees him walking up the cobblestone path.

“Ashe.”

“Oh, Professor!” He smiles, walking faster to reach her. “I’m sorry I took long.”

“Did you catch the man? Are you unhurt?”

“I’m fine! And uh…,” he frowns, looking down at his boots, “I… did. But…,” he rubs at his neck, “I sorta let him go.”

Byleth blinks. “Why?”

“Uh…,” Ashe frowns, glancing up at her from beneath his bangs, “well he told me he only did it because he wanted to sell it. His kid is sick, and he wanted the money to buy the medicine. B-But I went back to the shopkeeper and paid her for her losses.”

“Ashe, he could’ve been lying.”

He gives a heavy sigh, rubbing his arm. “I know. And I thought that might be a possibility too. But…,” he looks at her again, pausing for a moment, “I can understand how he felt. Quite a lot, actually.”

“How so?”

Ashe bites his lip, scooting out of the way when people come and go along the trail. He and Byleth go back up to the marketplace and stand in the shade cast from the walls. He’s still quiet for a good minute. “I’ll understand if you think badly of me after I say this. But we hang out enough and you’ve allowed me to train alongside your class and—well, it relates to why I have a hard time believing Lonato would start a rebellion of all things.”

Byleth only nods, signaling for him to continue.

“My biological parents died of illness when I was younger. We used to own a restaurant, but I was too little to take over the business, so my siblings and I lived on the streets for a while. Being the eldest, it was my responsibility to look after them, but I was too young and nobody wanted to hire me for anything; I was only 7 at the time. So I… had to steal to feed us.”

When she doesn’t say anything, Ashe quickly adds, “I-I knew it was wrong, and I didn’t like doing it, but my siblings looked so happy whenever I brought home food…. And so, I kept doing it. One day, I heard that a lord who lived nearby had a lot of priceless things, so I snuck into his home one night through the window.”

Oh, she has a feeling she knows where this is going.

He goes on to explain about landing himself in said lord’s study with a lot of precious items decorated around the room, including an embellished book sitting on a pedestal. Ashe had been fascinated by the cover and flipped through it, gazing at the illustrations of gallant knights. He couldn’t read then, but was entranced by the images of heroism and grace, telling her it was called _Loog and the Maiden of Wind_.

_So that’s why he wanted to buy it earlier_.

“That was my mistake though,” he explains. “I was caught by the lord who came up to get something from his office.”

“Was that lord, Lonato?”

Ashe nods. “I thought he’d send me to prison, or have me killed. But he saw how I looked, dressed in rags and my face spotted with dirt. He asked if I liked to read, and I told him I didn’t know how. He said he’d teach me if I promised not to steal ever again.”

“That’s how he became your adoptive father.”

“Yes. He took in my siblings and I to raise us like his own. We had somewhere to sleep and food to eat. Like I promised, I stopped stealing after that.”

“And you learned how to read.”

Ashe manages a small smile. “That too,” he replies with a trace of a chuckle. “So you see, Professor,” his smile falls, “it’s why I can’t wrap my head around that Lonato would do something so violent like start a rebellion.”

“I wish I had an answer for you Ashe, but I’m afraid I don’t have a clue either.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. But when I do see him when we go, I’ll get my answers. I have to. And I want to thank you again for letting me go with your class. But I won’t, uh, bother you after that. You probably don’t want a former thief around.”

Byleth stands closer to him and he stares at her with wide eyes. She places a hand on his shoulder. He’s not very tall, being her exact height. “Ashe, I killed for a living before I became a teacher. Like you, it’s not something I’m proud of, but I did it to get by. I’m the last person who would judge you for your past. I’d be a huge hypocrite, otherwise. I should be asking you if you really want me around since my hands are bloodstained.”

“Of course I do! Uh, that is…,” he looks away, cheeks pink, “I meant that, I can’t judge you either. As someone who wants to be a knight, I wouldn’t look down on mercenaries. Besides,” he meets her eyes, “you’re pretty kind.”

That’s not a word anyone has ever used to describe her. ‘Lethal’, ‘strange’, and ‘emotionless’ are more accurate descriptions. But this boy, even knowing what she’s done, still reacts to her with fondness. Still wants to be around her and get to know her better. Believes that she can keep him safe on the upcoming mission.

She wants to keep him safe. She _will_ keep him safe, even if things go astray at the end of it all.

“Um, Professor? I’m sorry if I said something out of line or—”

“Do you want to join my class, Ashe?”

He blinks at her, mouth open. “What? You want me to join your—really?”

She doesn’t know how the nobility with adoptees works. But if Lonato doesn’t survive the ordeal, Ashe may not have a place to go after he graduates. He’ll need to learn skills that will at least help him make a living. Byleth doesn’t doubt Hanneman is a good instructor. But she’s more experienced in non-magical combat, and Ashe could grow faster under her supervision.

“You don’t need to make a choice now,” she explains. “But the offer is open until you decide.”

“Oh. Well then, I’ll…,” he plays with the string of his hoodie, “I’ll definitely think about it. Not that I _don’t _want to join, but um, there’s a lot going on right now and…”

“No worries. Whether you join my class or not, I’ll still be here to garden with you on Sundays, and even help you train.”

A smile slowly spreads on his face. There’s a softness to his gaze. “Thank you, Professor.”

Byleth hums. “I’m glad you’re unharmed, Ashe. I left your book with Lysithea so you can pick it up when you’re ready.”

“Oh! The book, r-right,” he says, shaking his head and stepping away from her out of the shade. His face is rosy again. “Well, I better go find her then. I’ll see you later, Professor. And… thank you for listening and not thinking less of me after all of it.”

“I’d never think of you as anything but kind and gentle, Ashe.”

He gives her another shy smile before giving his final goodbyes and walking away.

She hopes he can still keep that smile after he gets an answer from Lonato. Byleth has a sinking feeling it’ll be knowledge he wishes he’d never have gotten in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned! Happy December! ❄️
> 
> Gonna be honest and say I completely forgot that Hanneman tells Byleth of their Crest after they first get to the monastery. HOWEVER, I have improvised, so it's fine. There's so much lore in this game that's easy to miss if you're not keeping track. Lol
> 
> No Claude again, but our Golden Boy can't be in every chapter, unfortunately. He'll be in the next one though, don't you worry! (And he'll be in most chapters of this work too. It's just that it's mainly told from Byleth's POV.)
> 
> Finals are very, very soon. I'm fucking stressed like hella trying to juggle all these projects. (Do not become an art major because you will die.) _But_, that shouldn't cut into my writing time; I take an hour or two most mornings to write a little more fic before my classes begin. And the good news is that I'm once again five chapters ahead in drafts! Yay! I really needed that one week break from uploading here to catch up. So thanks for being patient with me!
> 
> Some fun facts: early game data suggests Ashe was originally meant to be from the Golden Deer house, which is why he's recruitable post-timeskip on the Verdant Wind route. Someone also hacked Gatekeeper information in the game a while back, and it lists his age pre-timeskip as 20. Apparently he also looks like all the other NPCs with brown hair and eyes based on his class promotion sprites. I'm pretty sure this was a bug as a result of the hacking, but he has the highest charm stat out of all characters at 99. LOL
> 
> Also, I ended up buying Pokemon Shield after all. I'm enjoying it a lot more than I expected and have five badges so far. Scorbunny is the cutest thing ever.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	12. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth helps out a distressed Dorothea find her missing underwear that had blown away as she was drying them on the clothing line. They end up in the possession of a clueless Caspar at the training grounds who uses it as a sweat rag. She saves them both the embarrassment by omitting these key details to the other. Dining with Hanneman afterward during lunch, Byleth is persuaded to allow him to test her for a Crest. To their surprise, she ends up possessing one of unknown origin. Yet another thing Jeralt probably knew about her. It's information she asks Hanneman to keep secret until she can talk to her father about it. Unfortunately, she can never quite catch him in time as he's always off on assignment for one reason or another. She instead focuses on doing chores with Ashe. During this time, she finds out a little more about his upbringing and why he's so attached to Lonato. It leaves her with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, hoping that the end of the month's mission won't smear the perpetual, cheerful smile off his face.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XII ⧽  
  
Daylight Drizzle

**_23rd of the Garland Moon, 1180 _**━

Byleth waits outside the Knight’s Hall, arms crossed over her chest. She still hasn’t seen her father for several days, but if anyone would know where he is, it’s probably Alois.

She hasn’t really spoken to the man since they first arrived at the monastery. Holding a higher position among the knights, he’s nearly as busy as Jeralt. But she does hear him around, his loud and boisterous laugh resonating in the hallways almost weekly.

“Ah, Professor! Good day!” comes his familiar voice where he’s exiting the gate to the knight’s barracks. “I don’t usually see you here in these parts.”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“Oh?” He smiles then, chest puffing out. “And what can I do for you?”

“Do you know where my father is? I haven’t been able to catch him for a while now.”

“Captain Jeralt is out on an assignment I’m afraid,” he replies, “but he should be back before you take your class on that mission.”

He’s always off on assignment. Just what exactly is Rhea having him do? He’s been on more jobs for the monastery than he ever did as a mercenary. (Okay, maybe not _as_ many, but it’s getting there.) “I see. I guess I’ll just wait for him then. Thank you, Alois.” She dismisses herself with a nod and walks away.

“Wait, Professor!”

Alois jogs to catch up to her, his armor clanking as he does. “I wanted to ask: how are you doing with your class? With teaching? Everything okay? No one is giving you trouble?”

Byleth steps out of the way along the path where more knights are heading into the hall. Alois stands by her side near some trimmed hedges.

“Everything’s fine,” she explains. “There was a steep learning curve, but I’ve got the hang of it now.”

“I’m glad to hear it! I was the one who recommended to Lady Rhea you take up the position of instructor, so I just wanted to check in to make sure I didn’t inadvertently put you in a place of burden.”

Ah, so he’s why Rhea assigned her as a professor, despite her lack of skill in the classroom. Does Alois really have that much faith in her? He did say she seemed like Jeralt when they first met. And he and her father do have a history. Still, nothing about this makes any sense. Though she’s come to make her own niche into the faculty, it’s absurd it ever happened in the first place.

“Why?”

He blinks at her. “Pardon? Why… what?”

“Why did you recommend me to be a professor?”

Alois sighs, taking a seat on the nearest wooden bench. Byleth joins him, sitting at a comfortable and professional distance. “We were in need of an instructor. Before you, and that man who ended up running away the night we met, the teaching position was actually going to go to Jeritza.”

“Jeritza?”

“Oh, you haven’t met him yet?” Alois leans back on the bench. “He’s been a weapons instructor for a year now. He’s extremely skilled, but aloof, and isn’t one for casual chatter. I’ve tried to befriend him ever since he became employed here, but he brushes me off. The one time he accepted my invitation to have a drink or two out in the town, he ended up tricking me into a duel instead.”

He laughs, a smile returning to his face. “He gave me quite a workout! It ended in a draw. I think that earned me a little bit of respect, but I can’t be sure. He’s always wearing a mask over his eyes for some reason. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking with that thing.”

“And why wasn’t he cleared to be the next professor?”

Alois hums, scratching his chin. “Like I said, he’s aloof. Or, maybe a more accurate word is ‘unsociable’. We tried evaluating him see how he’d fare with a test group of students. What we found is that he’s… er, very blunt. And cares little for the opinions of his pupils.”

Frowning as he stares ahead of him, he adds, “Several of them cried, in fact. Others said they never want to pick up a sword again for as long as they live. That’s no good, so he was left as a weapons instructor. Some students still do spar with him, like Felix for example—tenacious, that one. But other than that, Jeritza isn’t very good when it comes to teamwork. And can’t hold down an emotional connection. He’ll help sharpen some of our knights’ skills, but otherwise he’s as solitary as they come.”

Byleth isn’t good with emotions, either. She’s lost count of how many times Jeralt had to defend her from comments about her blank stare, or that she never cried, smiled, or scowled. Having no friends either for all of her life thus far, she’s not too different from Jeritza in the social department.

_What makes me so special?_

“My question was only half-answered,” she states when the pause settles too long.

Alois gives a light hum, almost a chuckle. “There’s that Captain Jeralt shining through you, Professor. But that’s exactly why I recommended you,” he adds with a smile, balling his gloved hand into a fist as he makes a swiping gesture, perhaps to instill confidence. “Your father was always good at rallying support. Leadership came naturally to him. Being with his mercenary company all these years, I was sure you would’ve picked up some of his techniques.”

Not that he’s wrong, but, she’d been paying more attention to weapon techniques rather than social ones. Jeralt isn’t the friendliest of people, yet somehow he got loyal companions to work with him and travel wherever he wanted for a long time—20 or so years, apparently.

“Children don’t always turn out like their parents,” Byleth points out.

“No, they don’t, but some things still rub off on them. I don’t know.” He slumps his shoulders. “Maybe my own paternal instincts kicked in. I’m in no way saying Jeralt doesn’t know how to raise his own child—because as we’ve seen, you’ve turned out exceptional. But I guess seeing you there that night, knowing someone so young was already a mercenary and didn’t have the fortune to make friends all their life…”

“I could’ve enrolled as a student.”

“That’s true, yes. But Lady Rhea was already on-board, so I didn’t even think to offer that alternative. My mistake….” Alois glances at her. “Do you regret taking up the teaching position, Professor?”

Byleth shakes her head. “No. It’s different, and new, but I’m learning fast. I’ll admit it’s still a little weird I’m student-aged, but my class respects me despite it.” She pauses. “And you don’t have to call me, ‘Professor’. Just ‘Byleth’ is fine.”

Though she’s used to the students calling her as such, having adults considerably older than her call her ‘Professor’ almost seems patronizing. Then again, other instructors call each other by said rank, or by their surnames. Maybe she’s just being a petulant child.

“If that’s what you want, then ‘Byleth’ it is.”

He gives her a smile and starts to say something else, but a knight approaches them, reminding him of a training session he promised in the barracks. “Oh right.” Alois gets up slowly, adjusting the spiky pauldron on his left shoulder. “Sorry, Prof—Byleth, but I promised I’d train some of the knights in their armor and axe skills. It’s not the easiest combination because of all the weight, so they’ll need as much practice as possible.”

“That’s okay; I understand.”

“But this was a nice chat regardless! I hope we’ll be able to talk more in the future.”

She nods. “That sounds nice.”

Alois gives her a wide toothy smile, and then he’s off with the other knight. He chatters about, ‘earn your weight in iron’, which she guesses is part of some punchline, but they’re too far away to hear anything other than the man’s jubilant laughter.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


“Professor.”

It’s not every day that Edelgard approaches her, or stops her for a chat. So when Byleth is greeted by her in the dining hall later that day, she listens. There’s still a coldness to the girl’s eyes, but her slight smile defrosts it somewhat.

“Hello, Edelgard. How are you today?”

“I’m doing well. I hope you’re faring favorably too.”

“Things have been good, yes.”

Murmured silence from the hungry crowd settles between them as they stand near the doorway. Edelgard clears her throat, looking ever so slightly flustered. “I wanted to… thank you for the flowers you sent me yesterday. They’re lovely. But how did you know it was my birthday?”

“I overheard Ferdinand in the courtyard exclaiming something about finally besting you in combat on your special day. Did he?”

Edelgard sighs. “No, he didn’t, and he won’t for a long while. He’s always trying to compete with me for whatever reason. It’s quite bothersome at times.” The slight smile returns. “Well, I don’t want to waste any more of your time. I simply wished to give you my thanks for the gift.”

“You’re not wasting my time. I don’t have anything to do today, really. And it’s almost dinner. Do you want to join me?”

She blinks at her, lips shaped into a small ‘o’. “You… want me to dine with you? I’m not in your class.”

Byleth gives a shrug. “It’s as I tell Dimitri time and time again: just because you’re not in my class doesn’t mean I’ll ignore you. If you need my help, then I’m here to offer it. My own students take priority, however.”

Edelgard studies her for a moment, then looks to the floor. She appears to be deep in thought, her smile turning into the slightest frown. She looks at Byleth again, opening her mouth to say something before closing it. Keeping eye contact, she suggests, “Then… perhaps, we could dine outside? It’s warm enough. The bugs might be an issue though.”

“I don’t mind.”

After getting their meals (a fish sandwich for Edelgard, while Byleth nabs herself a bowl of onion gratin soup and complimentary dinner rolls), they find an unoccupied table underneath the large gazebo. Other students and those of the clergy and knights are chattering away, meals half-finished and glasses half-empty. The summer sun is still high enough in the sky to cast heavy shadows along the rose bushes and the walls of the garden.

“Have you been well?” Edelgard asks, breaking the silence. “With your teaching position, I mean.”

“Yes. Everything’s going fine. Just trying to prepare my class for the month’s mission as best as I can.”

“I heard about it.” She lowers her voice. “You’re to help the knights quell the tail ends of the small-scale rebellion lead by Lord Lonato. That’s quite a big job to fill, Professor. Are you sure your class is ready?”

“They will be when we go. I’ve been giving them more training time and less classroom instruction for now.”

Edelgard gives a slight nod, taking another bite of her sandwich. After she takes a sip of the tea, she continues, “I wonder why Lord Lonato would want to rebel. These sort of things don’t just happen for no reason.”

“Who knows?” Byleth tears a piece off from the bread, dipping it in the soup. “But hopefully we’ll get our answers when we go.”

“Do you have a guess as to why he’d want to go against the central church?” Before she can respond, Edelgard adds, “Perhaps he doesn’t agree with the way things are done. Or he’s disgruntled with matters relating to intermingling religious and governmental politics.”

She hasn’t given much thought as to why this is happening, but apparently Edelgard is doing enough of the thinking for them both. She’s not even in the class, and this rebellion doesn’t concern her. Lonato is from the western church in Faerghus; hardly worth an Adrestian noble’s time. ‘Disgruntled’ isn’t really a good reason to start a rebellion, too.

“I’m not versed enough in those things to come up with any guesses,” she admits honestly.

“There’s a lot to know, but you should be educated in at least most of how the church functions in relation to the governments of all three nations in Fódlan. Your class would do well to know them too.”

“I’ll put it on my ‘to-do’ list then. I’m still learning as we go along.”

Edelgard relaxes her shoulders, taking another sip of the tea. Her cheeks are tinged pink, although it could also just be the lighting of the early evening. “My apologies, Professor. I shouldn’t tell you how to do your job. They’re simply suggestions.”

“Which I’ll keep in mind. Anything to help me become a better instructor.”

She gets that same slight smile again, the tiniest hint of contentment from the otherwise reserved princess. Edelgard wraps her hands around the teacup, staring at the leaves at the bottom of the liquid. “Are you getting along with Claude? He seems to be a handful.”

“He stirs the pot sometimes; I think it amuses him, but he’s dependable. I go over battle tactics the most with him since he’s second-in-command. He’s learning the material quickly; sometimes even suggests different formations that are very effective.”

“You spend a lot of time with him.” Framed as a statement, not a question.

Byleth nods. “Yes. Although there are some days I don’t see him at all outside of class. Hilda says he goes to the library a lot, and if he’s not there, he’s probably somewhere else. Usually I find him with a book or two.”

Edelgard offers her more tea, to which Byleth declines, saying the soup is enough for her. The princess pours herself some more, setting the plain white pot back on the tray. It’s a simple brew Byleth learned is standard for the monastery meals. “He’s quite the enigma, isn’t he?” Edelgard asks. “I’m not as versed in Alliance politics, but I do know for a fact he appeared out of nowhere around a year ago. By way of being Duke Riegan’s grandson, he’s now the future leader of his nation. Though I heard Hilda’s elder brother Holst was to be considered before this all happened.”

She takes another bite of her meal, not looking at Byleth. When she’s done chewing, she dabs her lips with a napkin. “Though he presents himself as sociable, I’m sure there are many secrets he keeps close. It’s hard to trust someone like that, let alone with the future of a nation. I know I wouldn’t, especially if I were to assign them as my right-hand.”

“Do you trust Hubert? I rarely see you without him close by.”

This makes her pause, staring at Byleth now. “Hubert has been in my company for a long time. It’s natural to trust someone you’ve known for years.” She folds the napkin into a neat square, smoothing it out on the table. “Claude you have only known for a little less than three months.”

“He hasn’t given me a reason to not trust him.”

“Yet.”

Byleth blows on her next spoonful of soup. “No, I don’t think he will.”

The princess gives a low hum. “You have a lot of confidence in someone you don’t know well.”

“He’s my partner in this arrangement.” Byleth sips up the savory broth from her spoon, biting into a piece of onion. “I wouldn’t call him that if I couldn’t trust him.”

Edelgard’s gloved finger slides idly on the handle of the tea cup. “Partners. I see.” She goes quiet again. Byleth wishes she could tell what the girl is thinking, if only so her own mind is occupied from having to listen to the hazy silence floating around them.

The chair next to them answers her wish as it scrapes across the tiled floor of the gazebo. “Good evening Teach, and your Imperialness.”

Claude turns the chair to lay his arms on the backrest as he sits, one leg on either side of the seat. The noise causes people nearby to glance at him. Their stares linger on his back for longer than Byleth thinks is necessary, and then they return to whatever conversations they were having.

“You two hanging out is a curious sight,” comments Claude. “I wonder what you could’ve been doing? Chatting about a charming and handsome young man, maybe, who I hear is to be the future leader of the Alliance. Or are you just having a little girl time and talking about boys?”

“It’s quite rude to eavesdrop.” Edelgard gives him a hard stare when all he does is respond with a smirk. “Spending a moment of reprieve with Professor Byleth doesn’t come often to many, and you were just loitering about in the background, no doubt watching us. That sort of behavior isn’t appropriate. More so for a noble, especially for someone who is to lead his people in the future. Don’t you agree?”

That easy smile stays on his lips. “Not appropriate for a noble, huh? You’re not the first person to say those words about me, and you won’t be the last.”

She huffs, setting her teacup on the tray. “Professor, thank you for the company today. But I think it’s time I head back to my room. I’ll leave the teapot here should you want any more.” Edelgard stands, taking the tray with her. “Claude,” she dismisses politely, scooting her chair back in.

“Have a good evening, ‘Edie’,” he replies, wiggling his fingers in good bye. He gets a half-hearted glare before the princess walks off. To Byleth’s unsurprise, within the blanket of the shade, Hubert is waiting by the dining hall near one of the garden gates.

“Geez,” Claude shakes his head, “she was criticizing me for skulking in the background, yet I never see Hubert any farther than a few feet from her. He looks much more intimidating than I do, just standing there in the shadows. I’m surprised he can’t melt into the wall. Or maybe he _can_ and we just don’t know.”

“But he was standing further away,” Byleth points out. “Too far to eavesdrop.”

“Does that bother you?” he asks, tone light. “Afraid I’ll overhear you making little less-than-flattering comments about yours truly?”

Though the smile hasn’t left his face, his stare is trained on her, like a cat gauging how far it’ll have to pounce to catch the bird in its sights before it flaps away. Byleth shakes her head. “I’d never do that.”

“And you can say that, but still do it.”

“If I have a problem with you, I’d tell it to your face. Noble or not, I don’t care who you are. Besides, you’re my partner. That’s what you said. Lying to you wouldn’t make me a very good partner, now would it?”

“True.” His focus relaxes as he tilts his head, fingers drumming on his arm. Claude looks away to the furthest hedge, seemingly at some random point. A fat little bee bumbles about, clumsily landing on a rose as it buries its head into the center. The smile creeps back on his face, and he hums. “So, if I were to ask you a question—,” he turns to her, “any question—you would answer with all honesty? Y’know, seeing as how I’m your partner and all.”

“I would, yes,” she replies with a nod. “But I get to ask you the same amount of questions in return.”

“That’s fair. Can I ask you a question now?”

She shrugs, prompting him to satiate his curiosity. “Lately I’ve seen you around the faculty offices a lot. I thought your meetings were on Saturdays, not every day. Asking for some teaching advice?”

“Sometimes. Other times, I’m running errands for people.” Which isn’t false. A collection of just _stuff_ is growing in her room because she can’t figure out who the items belong to. She might have to start utilizing the notice boards all around the complex. “What are you doing in the faculty building, Claude? You’re not close to any of the professors here.”

“The library’s up there,” he replies smoothly, pointing a finger upward to the gazebo ceiling. “Knowledge is power, or so they say, and I’m a fast reader. Got curious about Relics and wanted to see if there was anything about ‘em. Only found a few things.”

“Is this because of Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

“Possibly. Relics seem almost fantastical, don’t they? Kinda like a story I’ve heard once about a sword capable of cleaving through mountains. Do you believe something like that exists, Teach?”

_That sounds too much like a fairytale to me_, is what she thinks, but in truth, she won’t discount it. After all, she never knew about the church, and Relics in general were things she couldn’t even fathom existing. Or a girl living in her mind that helps her rewind time.

A mountain-carving sword? At this point, it wouldn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary. But all Byleth does is shrug in response.

Another silence settles between her and her new dining companion. Claude’s focus never leaves her face, even when the first chirping of the evening crickets begins to sprinkle into the muddled chatter of the others around them.

If he was going to ask another question, he doesn’t voice what it is. His attention is drawn to her tray, and upon seeing the empty bowl, he clicks his tongue like a disappointed nanny would. “Oh Teach, soup again? And in this weather? C’mon now….”

Byleth pulls the bowl toward her, curling an arm around it protectively. “I like soup. It’s warm and tastes good. Both a meal and a beverage all in one. You can’t stop me from eating it.”

Claude’s grin brightens his face. He even sits up straighter. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“You like something. Yeah it’s soup, but, you actually like something, and you know _why_ you do.” He rubs at his chin, staring at the table. “But it being both a dish and a drink… I never thought of it like that before. And you’re not wrong either. Huh. Guess we really do learn something new every day.”

He takes one of her untouched bread rolls, picking apart little pieces to snack on. “You really live up to your name, ‘Teach’.”

“That’s your name for me.”

“But you haven’t told me to _not_ call you that, so, _technically_, you consider it your name too.”

Damn, he’s right. Everyone calls her ‘Professor’, either by itself or along with her name. Her father calls her ‘By’ or ‘kid’. But Jeralt is her parent; he automatically gets nicknaming rights over everyone else. She didn’t think anything of it when Claude had referred to her as ‘Teach’ that first time. Or any of the times after that. No one else calls her by that name either.

She could tell him to stop, and he probably would. Or he’d probably just find some other thing to call her. But, it’s nice, to be given a nickname from someone. Someone who isn’t her father, and who decided on their own she was deserving of one.

“It’s a term of endearment,” she notes aloud. “That’s what that is, I just realized. Am I endearing enough for you to keep calling me that, Claude?”

Byleth has only known him for a short time. And she doesn’t know what else to call it either. He doesn’t give nicknames to any of his classmates, or if he does, it’s when he feels like provoking a reaction out of them.

(Actually, it’s fine if he never gives a nickname to anyone else but her.)

“Well, you’re definitely interesting, is what I’ll say,” he replies, smile still on his face. “Am _I_ endearing to you, Teach? I mean, a favorite student usually would be.”

“I’ll keep saying it as many times as I need to: you’re not my favorite. I don’t have favorites.”

Claude lays his head on his folded arms. “Not even Sylvain?”

Byleth blinks at him. “Why would he be my favorite?”

“People saw you spending time with him earlier this month. On his birthday, I think it was. That’s why you asked us when our birthdays were, huh? Felt guilty?”

“Sylvain suggested that we celebrate everyone’s birthdays when they come up. I thought it was a good idea so everyone can feel appreciated.” Claude gives a hum, nodding. Byleth adds, “You were the only one who didn’t write their birthday down on the paper. Why?”

He shrugs. “Birthdays are nice, but I never really celebrated them.” Claude stares at the crumbs on her plate where the assorted bread rolls had been moments before. “After a while, it stops mattering to count the years you’ve been alive. I guess it’s just a luxury that everyone should have, but not everyone can afford, for one reason or another.”

A long pause settles then. Though his expression is relaxed, there’s no smile on his face like she’s so used to seeing. “The way I see it, it’s enough to just know you’ve survived another year.”

‘Survived’ is a bit of a strong word, but, “I can understand. Birthdays were never a big deal to me either. I hardly ever celebrated mine. I still think it’d be nice to make everyone feel special. They’ve lived another year; that’s enough of a reason to celebrate.”

Claude’s smile returns then. Smaller than before, but it’s there. Byleth decides she likes seeing it on his face. Anything else would be… weird. “Maybe you’ll find out when my special day is,” he says, giving her a lazy glance.

“Or you could just tell me.”

“Nah, I’d rather you figure it out. More fun that way.” He grins. “I’ll be 18 when it happens—a big milestone for lots of people, I’ve been told.” Claude rises from his seat, setting the chair back the way it was. “You’ll be the first one to know too, Teach. A privilege, really.”

“I will figure it out. And when I do, I’ll mark it on my calendar so we as a class can make you feel special too.”

He looks like he wants to say something as he stares at her again. But he doesn’t, instead slipping his hands into the pockets of his long blazer. “If that day ever comes,” he finally says, “you’ll be the first I’ll thank.”

Claude gives his good byes with a simple, “Later, Teach.” As he walks out of the gardens, other people eye him, whispering among themselves. Some turn their noses away. A few others curl their lip when he looks in their direction to excuse himself, walking around them when they won’t move from his path. When he reaches the gate adjoined to the brick wall, he turns the corner in the direction of the faculty building.

Edelgard might have a point about Claude having many secrets. He makes an effort to minimize any and all personal information even from herself, his professor.

Someone like that, they don’t keep such things close to the vest for no reason. But she has to wonder if it’s because he’s trying to play up the mysterious persona, or somehow, someway, he’s had to learn it’s simply better if no one gets to know him at all.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


She hears from Alois later that day that Jeralt is to return before the end of the week. Every day since, she’s gone to the town at the base of Garreg Mach (simply referred to as Mach Foothills) to intercept him before he can be ‘busy’ again. She needs her answers, and she can only get them if Hanneman can complete his research. Which can’t be done without her permission, and _that_ can’t be given until she knows why the hell she has a Crest and her father never told her.

In the meantime, Byleth goes over her inventory list to make sure the class has its necessary supplies before making the trip into Kingdom territory. Her students have all passed their certification exams, so they’ll need new weapons and pieces of armor.

“Okay, I’ve got enough arrows and two bows, and the other weapons are being repaired at the smithy. Lots of vulneraries, but it wouldn’t hurt to get more, maybe….”

Byleth stops to count all the vials. She probably should’ve asked Raphael to come with her so she can buy more at once. Not that it’d be heavy; she can handle the weight just fine. But she doesn’t want something to fall out and accidentally hurt someone because she doesn’t have more than two arms.

Carefully nestling the tonics in between pieces of cloth, she hears a familiar voice ask, “You’d think I’d cheat, on you, baby?”

There’s a sob, and that’s what causes Byleth to look over the other side of the nearby trimmed bush.

A young woman is crying, trying to stifle her sobs by covering her mouth with a hand. Sylvain stands next to her, hands in his pockets. Whatever is going on is none of Byleth’s business, but curiosity gets the better of her.

“H-How can you say that after we…?” the woman asks, another sob breaking her voice. “I thought we had some… some… and then I saw you with that other girl from the potion shop!”

Sylvain steps closer, hands coming up to rest on the woman’s arms. “C’mon, you should know me better than that. I’d never cheat on you.” He lifts her chin with a finger, pouting slightly. “You’re the only girl for me, y’know that, right?”

The woman pushes herself away from him, shaking her head rapidly. Sylvain huffs. “Oh, I get it. It’s not that you think I’m lying, but it’s that I’m not your type after all, huh? Well, I can introduce you to some guys who are, then. They’re all nobles like me, and they have Crests.”

“What?!” She actually looks offended, taking a step back. “What are you even _talking_ about, Gautier?! That’s not why I—”

His saddened façade falls then. Slowly, his expression settles into one of cold neutrality, a face Byleth has never seen on him. He looks almost… indifferent. There isn’t the slightest tug of mirth at the edge of his lips.

“I just want you to be happy, y’know, get what you’re after,” he replies, tone eerily calm. Only with his next words do the puppy-dog eyes and pout return. “I hate seeing a girl cry, especially one as beautiful as you. So, maybe we can just go back to your place for one more—”

“Ugh, you’re the _worst_!” She shoves him before storming off, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sobs are louder now, cries on the edge of a wail as she disappears into the crowd.

Sylvain sighs, shaking his head. Byleth must’ve been close enough because he spots her then, though doesn’t offer a smile like he usually does. “You enjoy spying on people, Professor?”

“No, but it happened inadvertently,” she replies. “I was making sure these supplies were secure in the burlap sack, and I happened to catch the tail end of whatever happened between you and that girl.”

Only the crowd’s idle conversation tempers the minute-long silence between them. Sylvain’s mouth thins into a tight line. “You look like you’ve got more to say, so say it.”

Words leave her lips before she can think twice. “You’re a jerk.”

“Hey,” he steps closer to her, rounding the corner of the bush, giving them a safe distance of space, “that was between me and her, not you. I value your opinion, Professor, but some things just aren’t your business.”

Jeralt always told her lots of men are no good. One would have to dig deep in the coal mine to find the diamonds in the rough. She doesn’t want to think of her own student as a lump of coal, though. Byleth would be a hypocrite otherwise, telling Sothis to give him a chance when she herself is already jumping to so many conclusions.

“You’re my student, Sylvain,” she starts in an even tone, “so actually there’s a lot more about you that’s now become my business.”

“My love life still doesn’t fall under your purview,” he clarifies. “That has nothing to do with academic stuff.” He leans his weight on one side, hands stuck in his pockets. “You ever been in a relationship, Professor?”

“Never had the time before, or the desire.” In addition to Jeralt probably wanting to fillet whatever man took an interest in her. She’s starting to understand a little why he’s more alert whenever boys want to spend time with her, even if it’s solely for academic things like tutoring or training.

“Well, lots of them end in heartbreak. That’s something everyone’s gotta anticipate. Anyway,” Sylvain shrugs, “I dunno why she got so upset. She knew beforehand that I date multiple girls at once. She didn’t care then, so why’d she suddenly change her mind?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” And she really doesn’t know how to answer him, honest to the goddess. She can console people like Ignatz, those who need more confidence in their weapon skills. Or people like Ashe, people who need to be prepared for the inevitable consequences of combat.

But love? She has no idea about anything relating to romance. Mercenary work doesn’t leave much room for long-lasting relationships. Any of Jeralt’s men who did fall in love left of their own will to find some other job to be with the person they cherished. Oddly enough, he never once complained or protested whenever that happened. Just gave them a nod, and wished them and their loved one well.

_Now that my place is here, in the monastery, will I be able to learn what that’s like? If only to help my students with these kind of problems?_

Sylvain’s sigh draws her attention to him again. “I really do hate to see a girl cry,” he says, posture slouched.

“Is that a fact?” She shouldn’t be so critical with him. She doesn’t know that girl, and for all of Dimitri’s exasperated complaining about Sylvain’s skirt-chasing, she can’t even begin to understand that area of living a life. A normal, young life.

“C’mon!” Sylvain whines. “This is hard on me too! It’s not like I _enjoy_ breaking women’s hearts. It sucks for everyone involved. If only I had someone to comfort me…,” he adds with a pout.

Byleth is silent, already knowing a general idea of what’s going to come out of his mouth next. There’s not even a point in humoring him.

“Professor,” he starts, looking at her with doleful eyes, stepping closer. He ducks his head a little, “it’s okay if you want to console me.”

She should probably start timing how long it takes for Sylvain to make his daily attempt at making a move on her. Maybe she can start a betting pool and earn a little extra money for the class that way.

When she stays still, just staring at him, he continues, “It’s a cloudy day—a good day to stay inside. They’re also good days for a nice warm cup of tea. I happen to have some exquisite flavors back in my quarters.”

There it is, that smoldering, signature smile. “You could stop by, and…,” he steps closer still, meeting her eyes, “we could chat about love. Maybe… spend some time getting to know each other. Not as pupil and mentor, but…,” he leans down, grin widening, “as a man, and a woman.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you, Sylvain.”

It’s almost comical how off-guard she catches him. His smile falls as he jumps back, eyes wide. “Oh, Professor, that’s _not_ what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Sylvain? I’m lost.”

“Don’t get mad!” She’s not, but maybe she’s frowning again like that time with Hanneman. “I was just teasing. Obviously, I’d never try to get you into my bed. That’d be super inappropriate.” The smile immediately returns to his lips. “But—and this is a hypothetical, of course—if you ever _did_ want to just _explore_ some things, I’d take our private lessons to the grave,” he adds with a wink.

Byleth turns on her heel to lift up the burlap sack, walking away from him.

“Okay, okay!” Sylvain runs to catch her, keeping in step by her side. “I’m sorry. Seriously. I can’t help but tease you, especially after what you told me, that’s all. You’ve really never been in a relationship?”

She shakes her head.

“Ever thought about what it must be like?”

“Mercenaries don’t have the luxury for things like that.”

His frown looks genuine this time for whatever reason. “But you can’t help it when you do fall in love with someone. It’s just a thing that happens. Didn’t any of your father’s men fall in love?”

“Yes, but they either had to leave the company or deal with a long-distance relationship. I liked being with the company, and that kind of partnership I didn’t understand. Besides,” she doesn’t know why she pauses—it’s not news to anyone at this point, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my emotional range is very limited. I wouldn’t be able to connect even if I did happen to fall in love.”

Sylvain gives a thoughtful hum, so quiet she almost misses it. He tilts his head to the side, glancing up in thought. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Professor,” he says, looking back at her.

Byleth shakes her head, saying, “No, it’s true. I’ve always been a strange child to everyone but my father. I don’t laugh, don’t smile, never cry, my voice is almost always flat—people think it’s creepy.” Even some of her father’s men had thought she was a little unnerving, but they’ve never said it in front of him. At some point, they got used to her oddness (she noticed it was after she had killed her first enemy) and the whispers about her blank stare simply stopped.

“I don’t.”

She offers him a glance. “Why? I’d understand if you were; wouldn’t hold it against you either.”

He shrugs, folding his sleeves to the crook of his elbows. “Honestly, it just makes people want to get to know you more. Like, what would you sound like if you laughed? Or how would your face light up if you smiled? Those kinda things make me want to get to know you better.”

“Then you’re one of the few who thinks like that.”

Sylvain gives a chuckle. “Whenever it does happen, I’d like to be there—one of the first to see it happen, Professor. I think everyone should smile; makes you feel good, makes others feel good for causing it. Everyone wins.”

“Even Hubert?”

“Ugh, okay, maybe not everyone.” Sylvain cringes, shivering. “You wanna talk about unnerving? That’s Hubert to a T. Like, it’s the entire reason I’ve never even said one word to the guy. I dunno. I don’t wanna just make assumptions but like…”

“He looks like he’s already plotted your murder and how to convincingly pin it on someone else.”

“_Right_? That’s exactly what I’m saying! You get it, Professor.”

When she tilts her head to look up at him properly, she meets his gaze. She’s never paid much attention to finer details, like the way his eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles at her. His irises are a warm brown, almost amber. The cloudy sky makes his vivid red hair stand out in the dull daylight. Looking at him this close, she wants to sit by a hearth on a cold autumn morning.

She blinks when a droplet taps her nose.

Both of them glance to the sky where the clouds have darkened. Slowly the ground becomes dotted with rain, and Sylvain groans. “Man, I wanted to stay out longer today too. We better head back to the monastery.”

They hurry out of the town and up the winding road. But by the time they’re halfway there, the drizzle is replaced with pounding rain. Sylvain grumbles his discontent before removing his blazer and using it to shield both their heads from the onslaught.

“You sure you don’t need help with those, Professor?” This is the third time he’s asked since they’ve left the town. “That bag looks heavy.”

“I’ve got it. You should go on ahead though; you’re getting soaked.”

“Nope, I’ll stay here with you. Keep you company and,” the blazer starts to droop over his arms, “er, somewhat dry, at least.”

“I don’t want you to get sick, Sylvain. We have our mission at the end of the week.”

He flashes her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine! But if you’re worried, I’ll take some medicine as a precaution.”

By the time they make it to the grand entrance of Garreg Mach, both of them are drenched head to toe. Anthony greets them from inside the building this time, saying something in passing that she misses among other people trying to rush in for shelter.

Mud covers their boots, hair matted to their faces. Their clothes are stuck to their skin, and Sylvain gives a frustrated huff as he frowns down at himself.

“Wouldn’t have gone out if I knew it was gonna rain.” He shakes water off his hands. “We get quite a lot of it in Faerghus, just not during this season. But summers down here are probably different. ‘Least it’s not cold outside.”

His gaze burns into her when she sets down the bag to the side to wring out her hair. His eyes roam up her figure, stopping wherever her clothes are the most adhered to her skin. The protruding veins of the wet fabric block out shapes in remind of the reflection of sunlight along a water’s surface. She doesn’t miss the hard swallow Sylvain makes, the laryngeal bump in his throat shifting as he does. But if he had intended to say something inappropriate, it never leaves his thoughts.

“You should hurry back to your quarters and dry those,” he suggests. “Won’t do us much good if our professor is sick for the mission either. Maybe take some medicine too, just in case.”

She’s not sure what to say to him when they meet each other’s stare. There’s an intensity to his gaze; a steady focus, one she’s never seen before. She’s not sure how she’s supposed to read that, and more questions than answers flood her mind when he steps closer.

“Hair’s in your eyes,” he says softly, wiping bangs away from her brow with a gentle touch.

“Oh. Thank you.”

His touch lingers at the side of her face. “Hey, Professor, maybe later when the rain lets up, would you want to—”

Looking over her shoulder, Sylvain backs away a considerable distance. Noise suddenly fills the space, and she doesn’t remember it ever being gone. But it does when he relaxes his posture and gives a casual wave. “Hello, Captain Jeralt. The rain got you too?”

“As I was exiting the stables, yeah.”

Byleth spins on her heel to find her father there wiping off rain from his leather armor. Jeralt eyes Sylvain, but unlike last time, the boy is calm and not ready to jump out of his skin. Her father regards her then. “You two got the worst of it.”

“We were coming back from Mach Foothills,” she explains. “It wasn’t so bad at first, but then it really got us when we were halfway here. Sylvain tried to shield us both from the rain using his blazer, but it was pretty much useless after a few minutes.”

Her student makes an embarrassed grunt. “Well I tried, at least! That’s gotta count for something. Anyway, I better get back to the dorm before this rain gets worse.” He makes a face at his droopy jacket. “Should probably wring this first underneath the walkway outside. And I’ll drop by the infirmary for that medicine so I can be in top shape for our mission. I’ll see you later, Professor. Don’t forget to dry up too.”

Jeralt watches him leave up the shallow staircase between the two statues. When he’s over the top of it, he comments, “The ladies’ man is in your class now, huh. Never thought you’d allow it.”

“Surprisingly, he’s decent in his grades so far. We could use his strength for our missions too. And he hasn’t given me any problems; he’s actually pretty attentive when I lecture.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Byleth knows where this will go if she lets him stew in his paternal thoughts of a million different ways Sylvain can pose a ‘problem’ to her. She’s a little tired, and she doesn’t like sticky wet clothes weighing her mood down.

When Jeralt turns his attention to her again, she doesn’t let him get another word in.

“We need to talk, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Okay, listen. Claudeleth is my OTP and I adore them to death because they're super cute and I just love their dynamic.
> 
> But this game has cursed me with being a multi-shipper, so naturally I ship Byleth with other characters. Sylvain just happens to be one of them (and my second favorite ship for her). Because this fic is mainly me being self-indulgent, you will get some Sylveth (is that what they're called?) in this work. But I _did_ only tag Claudeleth for a reason. Don't forget!!
> 
> Finals are next week, and it's severe crunch time for me now over these next several days. On top of me being a chronic procrastinator and having a severe lack of sleep? I'm dissolving into subatomic particles and I don't like it. No rest for me until after I slog through all of this mess. Time to dig my grave. Anyway...
> 
> Kinda suck at coming up with chapter titles, so a lot of them might be corny or uncreative. Lol
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth meets with Alois to ask about Jeralt. She gets the usual answer—that he's out on assignment. It isn't entirely fruitless though, as she learns Alois is the reason why she's a professor in the first place. During the dinner hour, she dines with Edelgard who thanks her for the flowers she had sent on the princess' birthday. Their time alone is interrupted by Claude, and a slightly frustrated Edelgard dismisses herself from Byleth's company. When she asks Claude about his own birthday, he leaves it for her to guess when it is. Needing to prepare for the upcoming mission, Byleth goes to Mach Foothills to stock up on supplies some days later. There she encounters Sylvain breaking up with the girl of the week. After making excuses for himself, he attempts to hit on Byleth, which she rebuffs. Eventually they have a sincere conversation about romance, cut short by the rain. Soaked to the bone by the time they reach the monastery, the sudden sensual tension between them is severed by Jeralt showing up when Byleth least expects him to.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XIII ⧽  
  
Mutiny in the Mist

“Huh. You’re actually frowning,” is the first thing Jeralt says.

Why does everyone keep pointing that out? Has her face really been that blank for all these years? Of all the emotions to show up first, it’s the frowning kind.

“That’s what Hanneman said when I met with him earlier this month. He’s related to what I want to talk about. But not here. We’ll go to your office.”

“You wanna talk about it this badly, now?”

“I don’t know when I’ll get another chance with just you alone, so yes.”

“Dry off first,” Jeralt replies, nodding to her clothes. “I’ll meet you back in my office, and I won’t get caught up with anything else while I wait.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Byleth rushes back to her room, dropping the supply sack down at the foot of her bed. She hurriedly wipes herself down with the bedsheets (she’d planned to wash them later anyway) and throws on a new set of dry clothes.

_Having more than one outfit really does come in handy. Thank you, Hilda. _

Taking a raincoat with her, her steps slap against the wet ground as she rushes into the faculty building. Other people greet her while going up to the second floor, but she doesn’t bother to say hello. They might pull her aside for a casual chat, and she doesn’t have time for that.

“That was quick,” her father says when Byleth jumps into his office, locking his door. Any and all precautions need to be taken. For not being such a friendly guy, Jeralt is popular with the knights and plenty of students. It’s her turn to get alone time with him. He’s her father, damn it.

“Can’t be too careful,” she replies, hanging up her raincoat. Byleth then plops herself down on one of the couches. “Okay, I’m here, so let’s talk.”

“Geez, what’s got you so worked up?” Jeralt sits across from her on the other couch. Only a coffee table is between them.

Taking a silent breath, Byleth starts, “Earlier this month, Hanneman tested me for a Crest. I wanted to humor him, with me being a commoner and all.” Jeralt motions for her to keep going. “But I wasn’t the one who had the last laugh. I have a Crest, and I want to know why, Father.”

Any calmness from Jeralt leaves his face. His mouth is set in a line, hands curling on his knees. The rain taps against the window of his office in swift strikes, sparing her from another deafening silence.

“I thought we were commoners,” she tries again.

“We are.”

“Then why do I have one?”

“I don’t know.”

This time, Byleth actually feels herself frowning. “You’ll have to do better than that, Jeralt.”

She hasn’t called him by his first name in ages, not since she was very little. Her father gives a deep sigh, running a hand over the lower half of his face. He leans forward, eyes trained to the side on the bottom of the wall’s molding.

“I get why you’re upset,” he starts calmly, “but I really don’t know why you have one. It’s news to me.”

“You don’t look surprised. Or sound it.”

Jeralt closes his eyes for a moment. “Because I’m both not, and am.” When she doesn’t say anything, he groans. “I knew you’d start asking questions sooner or later. Just didn’t think it’d take this long for the first one.”

“People know you here,” she reminds. “You have a reputation as the Blade Breaker. You were the leader of the Knights of Seiros. Leonie was apparently your apprentice at some point? All of this is stuff I never knew about you.”

“All of that I didn’t tell you; that much is true.” He watches her, not moving. “But the Crest, that I never knew about, and that’s the honest to goddess truth.” Jeralt’s stare hardens, fixed at the polished sheen of the coffee table. “Although, it’d sort of explain why you didn’t show emotions when you were little,” but he says that part so low, she’s sure he meant it only for himself to hear.

He looks up at her, and she stares at him for what seems like the longest hour of her life so far. Jeralt leans back into the couch. “Does anyone else know?”

Byleth shakes her head. “No. Hanneman doesn’t even know what my Crest is. But I’m asking you these questions, because he can’t further his research if he doesn’t have my permission to continue it. And I want him to. I need to… know. He might ask you stuff too.”

“Good grief.” Jeralt holds his face in his hand. “Remire Village really was the undoing.”

“I don’t regret saving them,” Byleth quickly cuts in. “And I’m glad we came here. I’m learning things about myself and how to just talk to people.”

“Not saying we shouldn’t have saved them, By. Just…”

“Just what?”

“Look, I don’t have all the answers. And as for why I didn’t tell you about my past, well, because I wanted it to stay there.”

“Did you want Mother to stay there too?”

Jeralt trains his stare on the small vase at the center of the table. There are tiny flowers poking out of it. “I loved your mother,” he starts quietly, “more than anything. She was my whole world. But then you were born, and things changed. After we lost her, I didn’t want to stew in those memories. Wishing for a time that ended too quickly. You didn’t deserve that.”

“But I at least deserved to know who she was. Was she a noble?”

“Not that I knew. That’s why I have no idea why you have a Crest.”

“Maybe she ran away from a noble house, and just never told you.”

“Maybe.”

Byleth sets her fists on her lap. “The one time I had asked you about Mother,” she starts softly, “when I was little, you looked so sad. I didn’t ask you anymore after that, because I didn’t want to see that look on your face ever again. But now, I think I should know. If you’re ready, that is.”

“I’m never ready,” Jeralt replies. “I wasn’t ready to suddenly be moved back here to Garreg Mach. Wasn’t ready to be in charge of the knights again. Wasn’t ready to see so many boys flocking around you like—dear goddess, I still gotta talk you about that. Shit.”

He groans again, burying his head in both hands. Byleth would laugh if she actually could, and if she didn’t want to roll her eyes. She understands now what Sothis was talking about earlier, about her father being overprotective in this new setting.

Dealing with mercenaries over the age of 30 is one thing; none of them ever tried anything funny on her. Byleth knew—and they knew—that they’d have to live without their ‘second head’ if they didn’t think with their first. Back then, she wasn’t sure what that meant. Only with time and discreet explanations from barmaids did she get why her father’s mercenaries treated her like a warrior and nothing less.

But that’s not what she wants to talk about right now. If Jeralt plans to give her some weird, long overdue ‘birds and the bees’ talk, that’ll have to wait. (And it’ll be wasted; she knows what sex is. Kind of. The basic process anyway. Barmaids are very chatty.)

“You look like you’re going to dissolve,” she finally says after moments of his mumbling. “I don’t need to know about her now, and I believe you about not knowing of my Crest. But, I just don’t want you to keep things from me again. That’s all.”

Jeralt sits up, forearms resting on his knees. “It’s a deal then. I’ll tell you about your mother soon enough. I just don’t want to distract you from your mission.”

“I won’t; can’t afford to this time.”

“Speaking of…” Jeralt gets up to rummage through his desk drawer. He pulls out a book with a leather cover. It’s worn at the edges, and there are a few scratches indented into the material. “I had planned to give you this before Zanado, but all the chances slipped away. Might be too late now.”

She takes it when it’s offered to her. There’s no title on the cover, and it’s closed with a string around a thin metal disc near the edge. “What is it?”

“My tactics primer. I refer to it every now and again when I need to refresh myself on formations out in the field. You’re leading your own group of fighters now, even if they are students. They’re learning to kill and stay safe while doing it. Figure it’s time I pass it on to you.”

Byleth runs her fingers over the faded stitching along the border. “You won’t need it?”

“Got it locked away up here,” he taps his forehead, “so I’m comfortable letting you have it. But if I need to borrow it on occasion, you’ll let me, right?”

“Well, it is mine now, and I do teach a class, so,” she tucks it under her arm, “that might be difficult. But I could be bribed to lease it back to you if you happen to have some tomato soup lying around.”

He gives a laugh. The smile on his face ebbs the tension away from her chest, and she sits up straighter. “I’ll see if I can get my hands on it then.”

“With all the fixings?”

“Yeah, with all the fixings.”

Byleth stands, keeping the book under her arm. She doesn’t want it to get wet when she goes out in the rain again. “I’ll leave you to your schedule now, since you’re always busy. Need to tell Hanneman it’s okay for him to ask you stuff.”

His smile disappears, but at least he’s not frowning. “Yeah. It’s fine. I’m gonna tell him the same thing I told you though: I really don’t know why you have one. But, if it’ll help you understand—if it’ll help us both understand, then what the hell.”

“Okay.” Byleth nods, and walks toward the door. She stops, hand still on the doorknob. Looking over her shoulder, she asks, “Will we be able to eat dinner later today? Or… just any time before I leave on this month’s mission?”

“I’ll make time.”

“Alright.” She opens the door, pausing underneath the frame. “See you later, Father.”

“Later, kid.”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth studies the primer every day before the mission. With Hanneman now occupied in continuing his research, she has no distractions. She really wishes she would’ve gotten this at the beginning of the month. But things don’t always go as planned; she’ll just have to make improvisation her ally.

She only manages to run through three different formations with her class before the mission. On the last Sunday of the month, they join with Catherine and the knights on the unnerving trek through the mountains and into Kingdom territory, specifically Gaspard territory.

It takes about a day to reach the reconnaissance camp. They get there that afternoon and Byleth has her class rest after a short sparring session. It’s tougher than what they’re used to, but all of them have passed their first certification exams so she knows they can handle it. She likes how they look in their new appropriate outfits, including a more protective myrmidon uniform for herself.

Like the last mission, not all 16 of her students attend. It’s not so bad since the enemy numbers are small, and no match for the Knights of Seiros. It’s a cleanup assignment, anyway. Or at least, that’s what they were told when they first arrived to the camp.

But this is the second time now that she can’t bring her whole class because they’re not ready. She doesn’t want to keep guiding only half of her pupils into combat. What is she doing wrong?

“Hey, Byleth,” Catherine greets, sitting down next to her on the log in front of the campfire. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you look like something’s bothering you? That fire won’t go out no matter how long you stare at it.”

If Catherine is remembering to use her correct first name now, maybe she respects Byleth enough to help her with her concerns. She doesn’t think Catherine will berate her for it, but… “Only half of my class is here. I couldn’t allow the others to come with us because they’re not ready.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“They weren’t ready on the last mission either.”

The woman hums. “You’re worried they’re gonna fall behind the ones who are able to handle missions.” Byleth nods. “Well, that is sort of an issue. But I don’t think it was a bad idea to leave them behind either. I won’t be able to keep an eye on you and your class all the time when we’re fighting Lonato; the less students you need to worry about, the better.”

Catherine studies the dancing flames. “I trust Lady Rhea’s judgement, though I have to admit that I still find it odd you’re accompanying us on this kind of assignment. But maybe you’re just that amazing. I personally don’t see it. I mean, you’re strong, sure. But you’re not the most sociable person. You’re not from a renowned noble family or anything like that. And you’re not particularly good-looking either.”

_Who is this woman and where does she get the audacity to say such things about you?_

_It’s fine. She’s not wrong._

_About the first two things, yes, but that last one has nothing to do with anything. You have a lovely face, Byleth, and a very mature figure. I do not care about such trivial matters, but these are facts which I have to state so you do not forget. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise._

_Thanks, Sothis._

“I wish I had an answer,” Byleth starts, “but I’m just as confused as you are, Catherine. Regardless of why Lady Rhea appointed me as a professor, I’m just doing my best to not fail my students as their instructor.”

“You’re doing fine there, at least so far. If you can manage to keep them all alive by the end of this battle, then I’ll tip my metaphorical hat to you, Professor.”

That’s the plan, one she hopes doesn’t go sideways.

_Should you need to use the Divine Pulse, you may._

_Divine Pulse?_

_Yes, that is the name I have designated as the ability of turning back time. But a word of caution: I actually do not know how often you can use it. You have not resorted to it since that first time outside of Remire Village. It is entirely possible you are only able to call upon it once in a single day. Or three, five, however many times._

_Think I should test it?_

_I would not do so today, under any circumstance. I strongly advise using it only as an absolute last resort. Dominion over time is a powerful ability, one that should not be taken lightly. We also do not know if there are adverse effects of using it multiple times in one sitting._

_But how will I know my limits?_

_One day, in private, you should attempt it. But it is as I said: today is not that day. And certainly not tomorrow, either. For now, assume you can only rewind time once a day._

_Noted._

Early the next morning, they head into the forest known as Magdred Way where Lonato and the last of his men are hiding out. Visibility becomes low as the morning mist rolls into a fog. They can only see the first three trees and bushes ahead of them no matter where they walk. Thankfully it’s not a dense forest, and the greenery is clustered in patches of open land throughout half of the area.

“You can’t all have torches,” Byleth says to her class as she lights a few, handing them out. “Therefore, you’ll be teamed up in pairs. With Ashe here, there are 10 of you so everyone will have a partner. Thankfully it’s morning so there’s enough light out that you won’t need the torches so much. Hopefully.”

While all of them are pretty much even with skill level, Byleth pairs them up based on their weapon choices, and which duos won’t try to tear each other apart while fighting. Lorenz still can’t stand Claude, so she opts to pair up the proud noble with Marianne instead. Ignatz and Raphael are another team, and Hilda will motivate Sylvain enough to keep him attentive. Leonie is no-nonsense and so she gets placed with Claude.

“Lysithea,” Byleth starts, handing her a torch, “I’m entrusting Ashe to you. Can I count on you to keep him safe?”

“Of course, Professor. I won’t let you down.” Her new monk robes look a little too long on her despite them being of her size. Maybe it’s just Lysithea’s short stature that makes her appear smaller than she actually is.

Or maybe Byleth is doubting whether she can place so much responsibility on her youngest student. But she knows Lysithea wants to prove her worth, and Byleth will give her any opportunity she can to do so.

“And I won’t either!” Ashe replies, a fist to his chest. “I’ll watch her back too.”

“Good. But do remember that if you have to, hide away somewhere or retreat. There are enough knights here that our class won’t be too involved in the fray. But should anything—”

Catherine rushes up to them, loudly taking a head count of Byleth and her class. “You’re all still over here. That’s good. I’ve got some bad news.”

Byleth’s class huddles around her, the words ‘bad news’ already striking worry into some of their expressions. The torches’ flames whisper around them.

“Lord Lonato’s numbers are greater than we anticipated,” she explains. “When we checked in last night, it was still relatively the same compared to the report from the previous week. But only one of our scouts came back just now, injured and bleeding. The others… we lost.”

Deafening silence is what prompts Byleth to ask, “How many more soldiers does he have?”

“I don’t know. Maybe 90 more. He was only supposed to have 200. But they’re not decked out in armor. They look more like villagers, if anything.”

“Two…,” Ignatz starts, swallowing hard, “two… hundred…?”

Catherine glares at the ground. “I know this sounds bad,” she looks to the class, “but there’s enough knights to take care of the bulk of the enemy. Unfortunately, that means you kids will have to handle the stragglers. That’s why you’ll be at the rear.”

She pulls out Thunderbrand from its sheath at her side. “I didn’t want to use this, but I’m glad I brought it anyway.”

Before now, Byleth has never seen a Relic weapon. This one is larger than the average iron sword but not as long as a claymore. It has a serrated edge to the blade in several angled points, almost like the bones of a fish’s ribcage. It’s colored an odd weathered yellow, and glows in a faint orange. Small sparks of lightning dance around it.

The material of the blade, however, looks like something she _has_ seen before.

_It’s like that weird sword from my dream. The one that green-haired woman was cradling to her face. That’s definitely not metal, so what could it be?_

“Teach,” Claude pulls her out of her thoughts by tapping her shoulder, “we better get going. Don’t wanna fall behind Catherine and the others.”

“Right, of course.” Byleth grips her simple iron sword in her hand. Turning to her class, she reminds, “Don’t go anywhere alone, and keep an eye out in all directions. If you have to discard the torches, then do it. Keep each other safe, even if I’m nearby. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” they reply in unison.

In the distance, she can hear the knights fighting against the rebellion, Catherine shouting as she no doubt slashes through Lonato’s soldiers. From her view, Byleth can still make out where all of her students are. None of them have wandered off into the denser stretch of fog. Whether that’s because they’re being cautious like she told them to be, or because they don’t want to lose sight of her either, she can only guess.

There’s a rustling near a grouping of bushes and trees. With her sword held firmly in her hand, Byleth creeps over to it, taking careful steps along the dirt. Looking every which way, she doesn’t see anyone around. There are fresher leaves near a bush from the trees above.

_Above? Wait…_

She sucks in a breath when she hears the tight draw of a bowstring up to her left. Byleth risks a quick glance up to the tree branches where an archer is aiming at her, and releases the arrow.

It punctures the ground as she leaps away, hiding behind another tree. This archer was probably sent to the rear to do some scouting. How many more of them are there? Her students might be in danger if they can’t see them under not only the cover of the fog, but the full branches of the trees.

Byleth can’t kill him if he’s hiding up there. And he’s got the best vantage point to aim at her. Why didn’t she bring her own bow? Why didn’t she train all of her students in archery to deal with long-range threats? A note to be added into her lectures for later.

All alone in this cluster, she’ll have to take care of the enemy by herself. With a grunt, Byleth climbs the tree, careful not to step around to the front of it where the archer can see. She peeks through the branches to find him scanning the ground for any sign of her.

She jumps onto the next tree, branches rustling and thus earning her another close call with a second arrow as it flits right past her ear.

_I need to get over there. But he’ll hit me if I try to move from this spot. Wish this fog wasn’t here._

“—could start a forest fire!”

Oh no, that’s Leonie. And the archer has now drawn his attention to her, aiming in the direction of her voice. Byleth braces herself and leaps onto the tree he’s in, striking him in the abdomen. He gives a gurgled choke as he tumbles drown the tree and bleeds out on the floor.

“Woah! Where did this guy come from?!”

Claude appears then, two feet away from the felled archer. Leonie is carrying the torch, careful not to let it near any shrubbery. Byleth jumps down from her spot out of their view, not wanting to accidentally get hit. Their weapons are drawn at the noise. “It’s just me,” she says loud enough, and only steps out when their shoulders relax.

“Don’t scare us like that, Professor,” Leonie says. “We could’ve hurt you. Can’t see anything in this darn fog.”

“Where are the others?”

“Nearby,” Claude replies. “I saw Lysithea take down some guy, and Sylvain and Hilda handled two more of the infantry.” He looks around the small forest, mouth pressed into a line. “This fog doesn’t look right.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were talking about it on our way here,” Leonie continues. “Usually when a thick fog rolls in during the morning, it’s a lot more of a light gray color, like the lightest shadow of a cloud. But this one is… weird, and has random patches of a deeper grey all around, even in spots where there aren’t any trees.”

Leonie steps forward, torch held in front of her as the other two follow out to the clearing. “A fog at this hour of the morning? It’d all be the same color, even when in little woodland clusters like this one.”

“That’s why we think it’s not a natural fog.” Claude keeps his bow down, an arrow ready to be launched against the string. “Only explanation I could come up with is that they must have a mage who’s doing this. One who’s maybe not too great at keeping the levels of magic even, so that’s why it looks weird.”

“If that’s the case, then we need to find them immediately,” Byleth suggests. “The enemy will be able to see us, but in turn, they’ll have less places to hide.”

“Agreed.” Leonie points her lance to one of the patches. “That’s the darkest one I’ve seen so far, so I’m sure that—Claude, what’re you doing?!”

“Improvising.” He lights the head of the arrow with the torch. Leonie pulls it away, glaring at him. “I shoot this arrow, we’ll be able to see in bursts.”

“No! We might cause a fire instead! Then we’ll have to deal with fog _and_ smoke. And _fire_.”

He draws the bowstring back, eyes narrowed at a focused point a few feet away near another cluster of trees, “Not if you know where you’re aiming,” and releases the flaming projectile. A loud scream cuts through the silence as a dark mage stumbles out of his hiding place.

The fire spreads around his robes as he tries to shake them off. Leonie stands there, sputtering to come up with a response as Claude happily exclaims he was right all along. Byleth rushes forward to impale the mage when he tries to remove his outer enflamed robes. He turns to her too late and heaves in a dying scream as he falls to the ground.

She snuffs out the last of the embers with her boot, and that’s when the field clears. It’s still cloudy and a little misty, but now their range of view has become a lot wider.

“The fog is gone!” comes the distant voice of Raphael. “Oh shoot, Ignatz, watch out!” He gives a battle cry as the sounds of metal meets whatever poor fool tried to catch them by surprise. At least both of them are still alive.

When Byleth’s students spot her, all of them run in her direction to regroup. Every last one of their weapons is bloody, and their new armor is tainted by the red smears and hardened dirt.

“Are you all okay?” she asks.

“Perfectly well, Professor,” Lorenz assures. “We didn’t stray too far from each other, and I watched over Marianne to make sure she was at the ready to heal, should we need it.”

“How did the fog lift?” Ashe asks, looking up at the sky. “It just disappeared out of nowhere.”

“Leonie and Claude figured out it was the work of magic. But that won’t cause any more problems for us.” She points her sword to the fallen mage just on the edge of the cluster of trees.

His mask is strange. It’s completely black with gaping eye sockets and a long protrusion that looks closer to a bird’s beak than a caricature of a nose. The dark mages she’s seen practicing spells around Garreg Mach, none of their uniforms have this.

“Claude set him on fire,” Leonie says in that blunt way of hers, startling the calm silence.

“You set him on _fire_?” Hilda asks, giving a wide-eyed look and forward lean toward the student in question. “That’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“Why did you gotta exaggerate it, Leonie?” Claude gives a dramatic sigh. “And I wasn’t planning for him to be burned alive or anything—which he wasn’t, so let’s get our facts straight.” He goes on to explain what he had been thinking. Being a mage, the man would have combustible robes that he’d no doubt need to hop out of, giving them a lock on his location to deal with him quickly. And, as it had been raining lately, most of the ground is still wet enough that a fire wouldn’t spread on the off chance he missed.

“Shooting a flaming arrow is still kind of dangerous….,” Ignatz notes. “But, I am glad that things worked out in the end.”

“You guys need to have more faith in your house leader,” Claude tuts. He looks to Byleth. “Teach is on my side, right?”

“This isn’t a game of hide-n-seek, so whatever tactics we need to use to lure the enemy out, I’ll approve of. As long as the kills aren’t prolonged. Even if they are your enemy, it’s better to end their life swiftly. Think about if you were them. Would you want to suffer a slow death, or be slain so quickly that you don’t even have time to feel pain?”

Sylvain cringes, hissing through his clenched teeth. “That’s… a morbid way to look at things, though it makes sense. Kinda humane, but you won’t always get the chance to do that either, Professor.”

“Well, where we can, we should exercise it.”

These soldiers—no, villagers—are simply following orders to feed their families, after all. It’s not their fault they’re getting caught up in problems from the nobility. But that mage, however…

_Something about him is picking at me. I just don’t know what it is._

“Let’s keep moving.” Byleth directs her class forward to where the knights are finishing off the last bit of aggressors. “There still might be other enemies lying in wait.”

A statement she wishes she never made because they don’t make it more than a yard before another small group of the rebels rush at them. At least this time, Byleth can keep an eye on everyone as they pick apart their foe. Ashe is the only one who struggles trying to hit at any lethal point along their bodies with his arrows.

He’s an attentive student, Hanneman had told her. And he always gets passing marks for every test or exam. During the days he’d train with her class, Byleth also went through the most effective places on the body, other than the head, to deal the most damage.

“If you’re attacking with a bow specifically,” she had said back during their last session, “and you have the time, strike where they’ll lose the most blood.” With her pointer stick, she guided their eyes down the anatomical illustration of all the major arteries. “The carotids, more widely known as the ‘jugular’, are the most lethal because of their size, location, and the added effect of impeding one’s breathing. It’s almost impossible to survive a wound here. You’d bleed out in seconds.”

She made a comment about Ignatz demonstrating its effectiveness when they went to Zanado, which in turn caused the classmates who didn’t go to awe at him. It made the boy blush furiously, but she didn’t miss his shy smile as he ducked his head to scribble down more notes.

Byleth smacked the pointer stick along the torso. “But if that’s not an option, then go for the most common, being around here in the aorta, almost in line with the sternum. Many soldiers have their hearts protected with some kind of chest piece, either made of metal or thick leather. Trying to go for the obvious is a gamble when you don’t have time to aim for such a specific spot, so don’t do it.”

Ashe had raised his hand then. “Uh, couldn’t we also just strike in the lungs?”

“Yes, but the lungs are another commonly protected area. If you know where all the major arteries are, your enemy will at least bleed to death fairly quickly. This one here,” she slides the pointer down the thigh, “the femoral artery is another severe spot with the additional effect of stunting their movement. While they’ll still bleed to death, it’s not as quick as if you were to have attacked anywhere above the waist. Being that the torso holds our organs, you might also be able to pierce through a few while aiming for the artery to cause extra damage.”

Byleth turned to her class, pointer stick slapping into her free palm. “But this is why I’m teaching you all of this. I won’t always be around out in the field, and these are the quick decisions you need to make. It entirely depends on if you need your enemy to fall immediately, or they need to be subdued instead.”

After that part of her lecture of that training day, Ashe had written down at least a page and a half on the arteries alone. And when they had went to practice what they learned with the straw dummies, he got very close to where the arteries would have been on a real person. Which could only mean one thing now.

_He’s missing their vitals on purpose._

Catherine spots them and calls out something. Whatever she wanted to say, it’s cut short as Lonato and his personal guard stalk over. She gets into a defensive stance with Thunderbrand, core low to the ground as she crouches.

Some of the men charge at her, but she dodges them all with easy swerves, striking them down every time her body turns.

“Thunderstrike Cassandra,” Lonato starts in a gruff voice. He’s a tall man with a white mustache and a balding head of hair. It’s slicked back in stringy locks down the nape of his neck. The wrinkles on his face deepen when he frowns. “So, they sent you, of all people. The goddess must be smiling upon me.” Pulling his lance from its place along his horse’s saddle, he continues, “I can do to you what you and that witch did to my son!”

“I didn’t kill Christophe.” Catherine (or is it Cassandra?) glares at him, Thunderbrand glowing a warm orange. “But you’ll be joining him in the afterlife if you don’t turn back and stop whatever it is you think you’re accomplishing, Lord Lonato.”

“Turn back? Turn _back_?” His laugh is void of any humor. “You dare ask me to cease in—”

“So your other son is just to be left without a father? Again?”

“My…?”

With loud footsteps crunching in the grass, Ashe sprints past Byleth before she can pull him away. He ignores Catherine’s orders to fall back, instead standing several yards in front of the massive presence of Lonato’s horse.

“Ashe?” the elderly man says, his brows relaxing, and frown turning less strained in anger. “What… What are you doing here? You should be at the academy right now, not with…”

“Why are you doing this?” the small boy asks. He has a trembling grip on the bow at his side. “Lonato, please, what…,” he swallows, “…this isn’t—there’s no need for this kind of violence. I know that Christophe’s death will never be forgotten, and I know that it hurt you deeply, but why can’t you talk things out? Why did you drag the townspeople into this?”

The man gives a deep sigh. “Oh, my sweet Ashe. I never wanted you to get caught up in this. You… There are things you don’t understand, things that can never be forgiven. If I had known what I do now, I would’ve never sent you to the Officers Academy.” He gives his son a somber look as he readies his lance in his right hand. “Please, stand down, Ashe.”

“I…” He hangs his head, staring at the ground. No one does anything for that silent moment, not even the archers behind Lonato who look more than ready to release their arrows at Catherine and the others.

“Ashe,” Lonato tries again. “Step aside.”

“…I can’t.” His voice is small, weak. “I can’t, Lonato,” he says louder. “This is… wrong. The townspeople…”

“Professor,” Catherine calls, not moving from her spot or turning to look her way, “my knights and I will handle this. Take Ashe and the other kids to fall back.”

“N-No!” Ashe turns on his heel to Byleth. “You brought me here, and I made it this far so I’m not going to leave! There has to be—!”

“You.” Lonato points his lance at her. “You’re the reason why my son has to suffer through this experience?”

Any paternal affection that was on his face moments before is now completely wiped away, replaced with a furious scowl. “Did you bring him here as a bargaining chip of some kind? What kind of cruel, thoughtless woman are you? I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from those employed under that horrid apostate Rhea.”

His horse whinnies as it takes a few steps back, ready to gallop. “If getting rid of you will make him leave,” he raises his arm, lance held out to the side, “then that is a sacrifice I’m willing to make!”

Catherine lunges at him when his horse starts to run, but the rear guard rushes at her before she can. “Damn it!” she shouts, blocking their attacks as a group of knights come to her aid.

Byleth readies herself, telling her class to flee in the safety of the trees. They protest, and she only yells louder. “Go now, before—ugh!” Lonato’s lance scrapes against her left arm, and blood seeps through the fabric of her sleeve.

“Professor!” they scream.

“_Go_!” she yells again. If there’s one thing she hates more than fighting mages, it’s fighting cavalry. The horse is too tall, and her sword can merely block Lonato’s swings away from her face. None of her students would be able to help, not when she still hasn’t trained them how to fight mounted enemies on foot.

Lonato cries out as an arrow pierces his thigh. He looks over his shoulder to find Ashe notching another one, bowstring drawn back. His eyes are glassy with budding tears, lip quivering.

“Ashe,” he starts, voice solemn, “if this is the path you have chosen, then I hope you’re prepared to face the consequences, as I am.”

“Please stop,” he tries again, voice trembling. “Lonato… I don’t want you to die…. P-Please….”

There’s a flash of a small smile before Lonato reins his steed around to rush at Ashe. Eyes widening, the boy releases his second arrow. It shoots through the space between the plates of armor at Lonato’s abdomen. The old man grunts out a cry, but continues his assault onward, and Ashe fires another arrow without pause.

This time it strikes him in between the crevices of the breastplate on his left side. Lonato gasps, lance falling from his grip as he slides off the horse, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. The horse keeps going, confusing the other assailants, giving Catherine and her men a chance to deal a killing blow to the remainders.

Ashe is frozen where he stands. The bow gently slips away from his hand as he takes slow, careful steps to the man he once looked upon fondly as his father. Lonato is unmoving, eyes void of any light.

No one says anything, and no one moves closer. Catherine sheathes Thunderbrand as she walks up to Ashe.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. “You shouldn’t of had to face him.”

“We had to stop it, somehow,” he replies, quietly. His stare still never leaves the armored corpse. “I’m already guilty in helping to kill the townspeople that he… he enlisted in…” Tears creep down his cheeks to hug at his jaw. “But I… there still could’ve… because then the town would’ve… it’s better that we saved them from…”

He lurches, running to the nearest bush to vomit. His following sobs are loud and unrestrained. The class looks onward with melancholic and sympathetic expressions, but it’s Sylvain who approaches him, rubbing a hand along his back as the younger boy hurls again.

Marianne places a hand over her mouth, looking on the verge of tears herself. She sniffs and comes up to Byleth, hand glowing in a warm, white light. “Professor… your wound. I need to…” When Byleth doesn’t move, Marianne hovers her hand over the laceration. It sends tingles up her arm as the flesh slowly accelerates its healing, closing it up, leaving only a faint scar and stray blood around.

Ashe turns to Sylvain, his forehead pressed against the other’s chest as he wails. Sylvain whispers something to him, frowning, still rubbing at his back as he brings him into a one-armed embrace.

“We need to check on the town,” Catherine mentions, “to make sure they’re not under threat of any possible remaining rebels. You take your class back to the camp. We’ll meet you there later.” She doesn’t wait for a response; simply calls her battalion’s attention and leads them away.

Claude stands beside Byleth, his stare not leaving Ashe’s weeping form. “Nobles start up these rebellions,” she doesn’t like the saddened look on his face one bit, “but it’s the common folk who suffer the most consequences.”

The field is scattered with the slain bodies of the townsfolk Lonato used in his aggressive march. Would he have tried to rally even more as he went? Or even harmed the neighboring villages if they refused to join him in his ambitions?

Her fingers twitch with the urge to use the Divine Pulse. But she remembers what Sothis had said; now wouldn’t be wise to test it out. And if she did turn back time, would Ashe have to keep reliving the reality of killing his father? Or watch others kill him? She can’t do that to him, even if in every refreshed timeline he’d be none the wiser.

In her gut, she knows it would’ve ended the same, no matter how many tears Ashe shed, and no matter how loudly he pleaded with his father. In the end, he didn’t even get any kind of cohesive answer for why this had to happen at all.

_By bringing him here… did I really cause more harm than good?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an evil person because in my Blue Lions run, I made Ashe kill Lonato. And now in my second Golden Deer NG+ run I'm currently doing, I recruited him in time specifically for this battle. I'm sorry, sweet Ashe. 😔 <strike>Sylvain, you're next</strike>.
> 
> Hope that wasn't too... disturbing of a scene? FE is violent in general because, medieval warfare and all, so I'm never really sure what warrants a disclaimer for content. I don't like gore, so there won't be any gory scenes in this work, but there will be violent ones. Just let me know if any of you need a warning beforehand.
> 
> Well, I survived finals (but not unscathed), and I'm no longer dissolving. I have about a month of winter break, so hopefully I'll be able to write new chapters faster now. I just finished Chapter 18 yesterday. Hope all of you with finals survived as well! I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who left comments last chapter. I was having a serious Bad Time mentally last weekend and this week because of all the stress, but your comments brought a spark of joy to me as I was drudging through all the work. It really means a lot! ;__; ❤️
> 
> Can you believe Christmas is next week? Where did this year go?! It's seriously almost over! Since I don't update anytime sooner than Fridays, I wish you all a wonderful and Merry Christmas if you celebrate it. And if you don't, I wish you all a relaxing 24th and 25th! 🎄❄️☃️🎅🏻🎁🦌✨
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	14. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth finally gets time to talk with Jeralt about her Crest, but doesn't receive the answers she seeks; he simply doesn't have them. He does, however, promise to tell her about her mother soon enough. A few days later, Byleth's class accompanies Catherine and the knights into Gaspard territory of the Kingdom. An expected cleanup assignment turns into a final skirmish between Lonato and his remaining soldiers. A thick fog makes fighting their enemies difficult. The battle becomes a little easier after Claude manages to correctly deduce a mage is controlling it and helps Byleth take him down. Ashe faces Lonato, trying to get a direct answer about why the conflict needs to happen at all. Instead he's forced to attack him, the old man sadly accepting the need to fight his own son for the sake of his ideals. In the end, Ashe kills him, but wave after wave of remorse and grief crash over him as he breaks down in front of everyone. Byleth is numbed by her own regret of bringing him, and wonders if it would've been kinder to have left him at Garreg Mach instead. 
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XIV ⧽  
  
After the Fog Lifts

**_5th of the Blue Sea Moon, 1180 _**━

The trip back to the monastery that Wednesday had been eerily quiet. Byleth’s class followed behind the knights and Catherine up the trail, not even making idle chatter. Seeing Ashe break down like that, having to kill his own father, left no room for small talk.

Ashe hadn’t said a word since they left, and Byleth wasn’t sure how to even begin to console him. When they got back home on Thursday, Sylvain had offered to take him back to his room and inform Dimitri of what transpired. She didn’t have any objections. Not being in the best of spirits, she announced to her class that Friday’s attendance was canceled and they’ll resume lectures on Monday. She wanted all of them to get some rest before they’d inevitably have to prepare themselves for the next heartbreaking mission.

“Not gonna lie,” Claude had said to her when they were alone with just the class, “but that mission left a foul taste in my mouth.”

“We completed it,” Ignatz said in a low voice, “and should be celebrating, yet it’s hard to feel anything except lousy....”

Leonie agreed, crossing her arms. Almost like she was hugging herself. “Some of those people were villagers. Not trained soldiers.”

It had seemed like that mission affected more than just Ashe. But Byleth had no idea how to comfort him, let alone the rest of her class. Whether having sensed her mild distress or he was simply trying to do his best as house leader, Claude attempted to reason with them, though he wasn’t smiling.

“I know, and it’s horrible. But had we not, then Lord Lonato would’ve continued through Magdred Way and toppled all the neighboring villages in his quest for… justice. Or what he thought was justice. More people would have died. It’s not fair, but we also saved a lot of lives too.”

Only a few murmurs agreed with him. But nobody brought it up again, instead choosing to take their dismissal and quietly thank Byleth for their day off.

Being a professor, she doesn’t take this Friday for herself like her students do. Instead she requests an audience with Rhea to follow up on the events from the quelled rebellion. Catherine is also there, apparently having business with the holy woman herself.

“Professor, I didn’t know you’d be here,” Catherine greets. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine. It’s Ashe I’m concerned about.”

Rhea frowns, shaking her head. “It is unfortunate he had to witness such a thing, and even worse that it was him to deal the final blow to Lord Lonato.”

“He shouldn’t have had to, and that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let him accompany my class.”

“You were doing what you thought was best,” Rhea says. “He also wished to get answers for himself. Had you simply told him what had transpired, I doubt he would have been entirely satisfied with the outcome.”

“Lord Lonato being dead and Ashe no longer having a father isn’t really a satisfying outcome either.”

“Okay, Professor,” Catherine cuts in. “Let’s take a step back. This isn’t Lady Rhea’s fault, so let’s not go around directing blame.”

The archbishop continues to frown, her hands still clasped tightly together. “Catherine, it is fine. She is clearly frustrated at the result. I understand why she would be. A testament to the care she has for the students, those in her class and out.”

Sighing, Catherine crosses her arms. “If you’re fine with it, your grace, then alright. But it still isn’t a good habit to just assume things without context. Professor Byleth, do you know about the Tragedy of Duscur?”

Byleth shakes her head. She vaguely knows what Duscur is; that’s Dedue’s homeland, a fact she knows only because he had told her to stay away due to him being from there. But he never explained why, and she didn’t want to bother Dimitri about it either.

“Really?” Catherine looks at her with wide eyes. “I’m surprised. That’s kind of hard to believe. Word spread quickly throughout Fódlan after it happened.”

“I know where Duscur is,” Byleth clarifies, “but I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it aside from its location.”

“Well, this event happened four years ago in Faerghus,” Catherine starts. “A case of regicide. Prince Dimitri was the only survivor.”

She goes on to explain that Christophe, Lord Lonato’s son, was implicated in having contributed to the tragedy. While it had been mainly the people of Duscur who were involved, some people from the Kingdom were also guilty. The late King Lambert, Dimitri’s father, was preparing to enact major political reform in his country, but not all of the nobility were too happy about it. And so an attempted coup broke out, claiming the lives of many aside from the royal family and related nobles.

Christophe was a good man. Too good, in that he’d follow any order given to him without question because he trusted too easily. Aside from the Tragedy of Duscur, he had also been involved in previous plans to assassinate Rhea, a plot that predated the slaughter. Him, and several others who were a part of the Western Church. He had been convinced way too easily that it was for the goddess’ sake, and the world’s.

At the time, that plot was easily foiled and so never went through. Christophe had been questioned, and the fool had answered honestly that he had ‘heard’ about the plan but didn’t act on it. Rhea, to the surprise of many, had been merciful. She merely exiled him out of the church community altogether, and the Gaspard household nearly lost all of its influence as a result. They received no more soldiers from the church or any other form of resources or aid. The Kingdom itself wasn’t allowed to offer assistance either.

“The shame it brought the household meant only a few people knew about it,” ends Catherine. “I was tasked with making the arrest. Christophe was executed for his crimes shortly after the Tragedy of Duscur. Lord Lonato was crushed, and it was around that time he stopped frequenting Garreg Mach. Used to visit here a lot before that, but…”

“Many attempts have been made on my life before,” Rhea says in a calm tone. “So often that I no longer blink when the potential of another one happens to arise.”

“That’s a serious threat though, Lady Rhea,” Byleth points out.

She gets a gentle smile in return. “No need to be worried for me, child. I may not look the part, but I know more than a few ways to defend myself. I abhor violence, but sometimes it is unavoidable. It is best to prepare for such a situation rather than be surprised at the occurrence.”

“I don’t think Ashe knew all of this,” Catherine mentions. “But I wouldn’t share this information with him either, Professor. It’s… too soon. And perhaps better if he finds out on his own.”

She’s not sure how well she agrees with that, but Byleth doesn’t want to test out his mental capacity either.

Rhea nods. “I concur with Catherine. The wounds of his loss is still too raw. But, Professor,” she studies Byleth’s face, the smile never leaving her lips, “I do not think he is upset with you, specifically. That is part of what you are worried about, is it not? That you have ruined his life?”

“He went through something traumatic. Something he should’ve never had to have seen.”

“No, but by asking you to bring him along, he did consent to the consequences of what that might mean. You do not have to speak with him now, but I think he will take great comfort in you trying to console him.”

Byleth doesn’t stay any longer than a few more minutes. Rhea mentions she’ll give her class a new monthly assignment later in the coming week. One that won’t require them to go out in the field and kill again. For now, though, she wants her to rest and take some time for herself.

She’s at a loss on what to do about that, or how she should even begin to comfort Ashe. Will he continue to smile again after having lost his father? Having to live with the fact that he died by his own hands? She _should_ be focusing on how to help her other students who are falling behind on field experience, but how can she when she’s most likely contributed to the pain of one outside her own—

—and her rear meets the floor from a fall after rounding the corner into something. Someone.

“I’m terribly sorry, Professor!” Dimitri helps her up looking genuinely guilty. “I didn’t mean to throw you off balance. But I am glad that I’ve run into you. Not literally, like just now but, well you know.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Though she shouldn’t be so distracted that she’s not even paying attention to where she’s going. She’s a little surprised he didn’t topple over himself. “What can I help you with, Dimitri?”

“Ah, no, it’s more like what can I do for you, Professor.”

“Sorry?”

“That is…,” he clears his throat, standing to attention, “I heard from Sylvain about what happened. Ashe was too distraught to speak of it, and I won’t pester him about the event either. You canceled class, however. Everyone is rightfully concerned about Ashe, but, what about you, Professor? How are you doing after all of this?”

“I’m okay.”

_You are not all ‘okay’._

_But Dimitri doesn’t need to worry himself over me._

_He cares about you, Byleth, despite not being part of your class. Do you not remember when I said it is important to have someone else—besides me or Jeralt—to talk with? Look at this boy. His demeanor resembles that of an innocent pup eager to please. Will you not at least ease his worries so then you do not need to fret over him fretting over _you_?_

Byleth continues walking out of the building, Dimitri at her heels when she suggests they talk elsewhere. The two of them move to overlook the scenery near the pathway to the knight’s hall. He watches her as she stares out along the mountainside where the cathedral is situated.

“I’m okay,” she repeats, “in the general sense. Cutting down other people’s enemies is what I did for a living. Not that I’m numb to the act, but it’s nothing new to me. To Ashe, however, it was. Very much traumatic. He shouldn’t have had to kill Lonato, but he was being targeted by his own father for… standing up for what he believed was just.”

She glances up to the sky where knights do basic aerial maneuvers with the pegasi and the wyverns. “And I don’t know how to help him through this. I wonder if I should’ve even brought him along in the first place, because now he’s never going to forget this experience. That’s the part of me that isn’t ‘okay’.”

Dimitri glances ahead, leaning his weight on the brick wall. It’s tall enough for most people of average height, stopping short of their shoulders, perhaps for safety reasons. He looks down at the brick, folding his arms over its flat rough surface.

“You made a decision based on wanting to assist,” he starts. “It wasn’t you who hurt Ashe, Professor.”

“But I still contributed by giving him a pathway to that pain.”

“Ashe is stronger than you might think. I know the impression he gives off is one of pleasantness and innocence. While true, he’s also not so naïve as one might assume. In his heart, I think he knew this might be a possible end.”

The young prince turns to her, searching her face. “You did what you could to keep him safe; that’s what is most important. He won’t easily recover from this experience, that is true. It was a terrible thing to have happened. But if you wish to help him, I think simply knowing that you’re so concerned will ease his sorrow a bit.”

He smiles at her, blue eyes clear like a cloudless sky. “And he doesn’t hate you, Professor. That, at least, I am absolutely sure of.”

Is that what’s truly bothering her? That he might hate her for allowing this to happen? This is what teaching a class is doing, she supposes. Now she’s concerned about which students hate her and which don’t. In the long run, it never mattered before when she was a sell sword. Most likely, she’d never see those people again.

But here, she can’t just up and leave. Not when so many are depending on her for guidance. Do the students who are falling behind also dislike her because they’re not getting field experience? Should she focus more on them and ignore the nine she has been watching more closely?

_I don’t want to be a bad instructor._

“Professor,” Dimitri pulls her attention away with his concerned tone, “if I said something that upset you, please let me know. I didn’t intend to, I promise.”

Oh goddess, is she frowning again? She probably is.

“I’m not the best at comforting people,” he admits, running a hand along the back of his neck as he glances to the ground. “But I wanted to make sure you were alright. Though if I only made things worse…”

“You didn’t,” she assures. “I really do appreciate you seeking me out to check on me, Dimitri. And your words did help ease my worries. Thank you.”

He gives a small smile, nodding. “Do not mention it, Professor. And once again, I’m sorry I bumped into you. I was arguing with… um, someone, over what transpired with Lord Lonato, and wasn’t paying attention.” He grows quiet, then adds, “Might I ask you a question? It’s… related to what happened.”

“Sure.”

“This person who I was arguing with had mentioned that they understood Lord Lonato’s reasoning, and that if they personally had to sacrifice innocent citizens for their idea of a greater good, they would without hesitation. As many as needed. ‘The world isn’t fair’, or something. I could…,” his fists clench along the cement of the wall, “I could not agree with that—don’t see why any sane person would, even if that statement is true, hence the arguing and why I wasn’t paying attention.”

He hasn’t even asked his question when he gets quiet again, but Byleth can figure out what he wanted to inquire. “I feel like if you need to sacrifice innocent civilians and not consider all possible alternatives, I don’t see how that’s a ‘greater good’ for anyone except a small few who are probably part of the problem in the first place.”

She wonders if this is how Lonato was truly thinking. And what kind of people would ever want to follow a lord who has such ideas? He didn’t seem like too charismatic of a person for others to easily rally behind him. Maybe there was something else in play. Something beyond her understanding.

Dimitri lets loose a deep sigh, and gives a slight nod. “I am… relieved, to hear you say that, Professor. I thought I was just overreacting, but if even you can see the absurdity of such a thing, then, it’s not me who needs to reevaluate their line of thinking.”

Turning to her, he gives a small smile. “Thank you for listening. And sorry for bringing up something so bleak, especially when I was trying to console you in the first place. I just wanted a second opinion.”

“I don’t mind, Dimitri. I’m glad that you’re feeling a little less angry about it.”

“Yes, I do feel more relaxed. And Professor, you can—only if you want to of course—but you can speak with me if… you just need someone to listen. While not my instructor, I feel it’s important to build a bond between houses anyway. Again, only if you’re alright with that.”

“I think that’s a splendid idea.”

Dimitri concurs, posture straight instead of the small slump from moments before. “I’m glad I was able to help. Um, but I’ll leave you to your schedule now. I know even on your days off, you must have things you’d want to do.”

“How about we spar?”

“Pardon?”

Byleth pushes off from her place against the wall. “I do need to write up the lesson plan for next week, but I can do it later tonight. Right now, I don’t feel like sticking to my schedule. I deserve to relax, so, maybe some training in a weapon I still need more practice in will help me achieve that. The lance, perhaps.”

“Relaxing by doing more work?” He hums, almost a chuckle. “You’re nearly as tireless as Felix, Professor. But if you really want to spar, then I won’t decline. I would, um, also like that too. I could always learn from you. If… If you have the time, obviously!”

“Like I said to you before, I’ll help you train when I can, Dimitri. Much like you’re concerned about me, I can offer my care and instruction to you as well. Inter-house bonding, right?”

Sothis was right. Looking at his wide smile and bright eyes, he truly does remind her of a playful puppy. She can almost imagine a wagging tail if she tries hard enough. (But that’s probably weird, so she doesn’t.)

The two of them walk over to the training grounds, making casual conversation along the way. She asks him about his studies, and what he does to relax. Unsurprisingly, he too likes to go a few rounds with a training dummy when he wants to destress. That, or eat whatever Dedue cooks for him, which is often and usually upon insistence when he skips one too many a meal.

He’s very partial to any cheese dishes and goes on to explain how Gautier territory makes all the best varieties in Faerghus. Dimitri lists his favorites from his childhood, describing their taste in colorful detail, and even laments that he can’t get many of them here in the monastery.

Byleth has grown attached to her class of fawns. It’s something she might as well admit to herself at this point. They bring out an array of emotions once foreign to her, and even a protective determination. But had she not picked the Golden Deer, she thinks she would’ve enjoyed guiding the cubs into full-fledged lions, too.

  
  
  
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Thinking back on their battle against Lonato, she realizes that it might be beneficial to teach her students how to ride a horse. Or at least the ones who are capable. (She has a feeling Raphael won’t do so well.)

Near the stables is a large tower that stacks down the mountainside where the pegasi and wyverns roost. She figures those who can’t ride a horse could learn how to stay airborne instead. Much more difficult, but she has a feeling a few of them, at least, will excel in it. She decides to stop by to talk to the handlers about setting up a training day against cavalry units.

Passing through the stables, she spots Ferdinand in one of the open stalls. He’s brushing the mane of a honey-colored horse and giving it compliments in a quiet voice so only it can hear.

A part of her feels bad for not speaking much to the boy. He just talks _a lot _about himself. Maybe that’s simply his way of connecting with people. She ought to at least say hello to him every now and again.

“Ferdinand, good afternoon.”

His face lights up immediately with a big smile. “Professor! Good afternoon! It is not often I get the chance to speak with you.”

Oh, so he’s noticed. Well, that doesn’t do much to help her guilt.

“Sorry, I’m usually busy. But today I canceled class so they can rest from the recent mission.”

“Ah, yes. I have… heard of what happened.” His smile falls as he continues stroking the brush along the horse’s shiny mane. “I cannot imagine what Ashe must be going through. But I do hope he’s alright.”

“I hope so too.”

Ferdinand stops to glance at her. “You look awfully downcast yourself, Professor. I don’t think I have ever seen a frown on your face. Usually you wear a neutral expression.”

Again with the frowning. _This is going to be a regular thing, isn’t it?_

“Guess I feel partially responsible for Ashe’s suffering,” she admits, now having fully comprehended it. “I’m not sure how to console him, but everyone just tells me to give him time to process his grief. Still, it doesn’t feel like enough. I could be doing more to help.”

The young noble taps his chin with a gloved finger. Setting the brush down, he goes to a wooden crate where a medium-sized box is tucked against the wall on top of it. “I had been wondering what to do with this. Originally, I was going to gift it to another noble,” he starts, presenting it to her, “but, I figure you could use it more, Professor. A little something to cheer you up. And at a later time, possibly a way to lift Ashe’s spirits as well.”

Whatever is in here, it’s decently heavy. Byleth unfolds the already unwrapped package to find a very fancy tea set. Aside from the tea pot and cups, there are a lot of other components that she has no idea what they’re for. The only thing she recognizes is a tray at the bottom, partially hidden by paper. Maybe to keep the sets from moving around in the box and breaking.

“This looks expensive,” she comments.

“Oh, yes I suppose it was! But I already have this set.” He sighs, looking genuinely sad. “I had ordered a different selection a while ago, but they messed up and gave me this one. It’s a hassle to ask for a refund. Plus, I would have to pay more if I would like it expedited—which I do. Money is no object,” must be nice to be able to say that, “but I wouldn’t want to bother the craftsmen with it. I’ll just buy the one I wanted again. And also attach a note to make sure they don’t mix up the variant this time.”

She continues to stare at the shiny surface of the porcelain. “This is a very generous gift, Ferdinand, but it’d be wasted on me. I only just started drinking tea when I came here to the monastery.” She holds out the package to him. “You should give it to someone who’s more deserving of an elaborate present like this.”

“No no, I insist!” He gently pushes the package back her way as he dismisses her with his other hand. “Hearing that you have never enjoyed one of the finest past times there is, why, I can’t fathom it! This simply will not do. Professor, I would very much like to teach you the art of tea!”

“My class doesn’t have as many nobles like the other two houses.”

“Commoners can also enjoy tea! It is a universal thing. There is a proper way to enjoy it, and I know everything there is to about the subject. Please,” he actually folds his hands together in a pleading gesture, “_please_ may I teach you? I’m a good instructor, I promise! Although not as good as you are, I’m sure.”

She’s not sure if Ferdinand is aware that he’s capable of making big, sad puppy eyes at her. Eyes that she doesn’t like to see because then she’d feel even worse if she rejected his genuine offer to bond with her—even over something she doesn’t particularly care about.

_Why does everyone here look like a puppy to me? First Ashe, then Dimitri, and now Ferdinand. This is weird and I don’t like it._

Sothis chuckles.

_What harm could come from accepting this young man’s offer? Many students here enjoy tea, including those of more modest birth too, like he had said. Perhaps you could learn some etiquette as well._

_I don’t need etiquette. Never had a use for that stuff before._

_Yes yes, but you are no longer a mercenary. This is something you must accept, Byleth. You are a professor, in an environment of manners and grace. Noble you may not be, but you are surrounded by them. Maybe you can learn something useful from this one, and in turn, you can teach him something to keep him humble._

Maybe Sothis has a point.

_Of course I do. I consider myself part of your conscience._

Ignoring her self-proclaimed conscience (_I can read all of your thoughts, if you haven’t forgotten!_), Byleth relents and accepts Ferdinand’s offer. She’s nearly blinded by his beaming face.

“Excellent! I will just—oh, first I must finish this task.” He picks up the horse hairbrush. “I had been so frustrated earlier because of the mix-up that I came here to calm down.” He resumes his earlier task, giving the mane gentle strokes with the brush. “Beautiful, aren’t they? So majestic and graceful. Quite powerful as well. Truly no other animal in the goddess’ kingdom is more magnificent.”

The horse gives a soft huff as Ferdinand strokes its snout. “You can leave the package there, Professor, and I will have everything set up for us in the gazebo. The one surrounded by the lovely roses. A perfect place to teach you all there is about tea! Just, um, give me some time to finish up here. I shall meet you there in, say, about three hours.”

Byleth leaves him alone to go search out the stable hands. She almost forgot her original purpose for coming here. She finds them in the back, hauling hay against the wall. They agree to let her use the horses for combat training and will mention it to the knights so they can get some riders.

When she returns, Ferdinand is gone and the horse he had been grooming has the shiniest mane, tail, and coat of them all. She does spot Marianne outside, however, stroking the snout of a different horse.

“I hope you liked your exercise today, Dorte,” the quiet girl says. She has a sweet smile as she caresses the creature’s jaw. “On Sunday I’ll take you out for a ride again. And maybe even bring some snacks if—oh.” She spots Byleth, and the smile falls. Marianne looks to the ground. “Um, hello Professor.”

“Hello, Marianne. What are you doing?”

“I was just… going to brush the mane of this horse, Dorte. And you?”

“I came to see the horses too.” Or more accurately, the stable hands, but it’s close enough. She did always like her father’s horse, Petunia. Maybe she should visit her and brush her mane as well.

“Oh!” The smile returns to the girl’s lips, and her usually dull eyes look just a little brighter. “Do you like horses? They’re such kind creatures.”

So, Marianne likes horses. Out of all the students in her class, she knows the least about her because of how timid and soft-spoken she is. The girl always looks sad or tired, and the bags around her brown eyes seem to get progressively more sullen.

But her sweet smile that she now wears can defrost ice, and Byleth wants to see more of that in the future.

“Horses are beautiful,” Byleth says. “My father has one boarded here. Her name’s Petunia and she’s kind of got like a light grey, almost speckled coat. She’s been his mount for a long while now.”

“Petunia? Yes, I’ve seen her. She’s very sweet too, and looks like she’s well taken care of. Captain Jeralt has been good to her. That makes me happy when people take care of their mounts and pets. Not everyone is kind to animals….”

Byleth hums, stroking Dorte on the neck. “Do you like animals, Marianne?”

She nods. “Y-Yes. Horses are my favorite, but I also really like birds. And the small, furry animals like rabbits and mice. But, um…,” she wrings her hands together, “I also… think reptiles are unique as well as aquatic creatures and—well I know almost everyone hates them, and might not even consider them animals, but there’s something to appreciate about insects too.”

“You’re the sort of person who’d move a spider out of her room with a piece of paper rather than kill it, aren’t you?”

Marianne looks down at the ground again. “…Is that bad? Um, they’re just very tiny and more afraid of humans than we are of them. Most spiders will run away and hide if they can.”

“No, I don’t think it’s bad at all. You’ve got a gentle soul, Marianne. As you’ve said, not everyone is kind to animals, but I’m happy to see that you are. We need more of that in the world.”

It’s very small, but Marianne manages to smile as she peeks up at Byleth from beneath her messy bangs. “Th-Thank you, Professor.”

She stays for a while longer listening to Marianne talk about Dorte and horse care. Byleth tells her of her idea to start training the class in horseback riding as well as how to defend against cavalry units. She offers to Marianne to help her with planning it out since she knows a lot more about the equine creatures than she ever will.

Extremely reluctant at first, Marianne eventually agrees after Byleth promises she’ll be with her when giving a lecture on horses so she doesn’t break down in nerves in front of everyone.

“Um, Professor?” She feeds Dorte a piece of carrot, smiling a little as he nibbles on it with a content grunt. “Did you want to do this because of… what happened with Lord Lonato?”

Byleth nods, confirming, “Actually, yes. That’s a crucial skill I still haven’t taught you all. So far we’ve been fighting mainly infantry, but Lonato was a huge wakeup call. Cavalry enemies require a different skillset.”

Marianne is quiet as she hangs up Dorte’s saddle and reins on a wall hook in his stable. She throws out the old water of the trough with a large bucket. “I prayed for him—Lord Lonato,” her voice is soft, “so that he may find peace in the afterlife.”

She refills the trough, making several trips from the well until it’s filled about two inches beneath the top. Marianne rubs a hand at Dorte’s side as he drinks.

“I prayed for Ashe too, so that… he will get through this terrible time in his life. I hope the goddess gives him strength to carry on.”

Byleth hopes so too.

  
  
  
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It’s around 4 in the afternoon when she goes to see Ferdinand in the rose garden gazebo. Like he had said, everything is already set up. There’s also a fancy triple tiered cake stand off to the side filled with small sandwiches and pastries.

“Professor!” He stands up to meet her. “Thank you for coming. I have prepared everything with meticulous care. You will find that I procured only the highest quality teas and edibles.” He pulls out a chair for her. “Please, have a seat.”

Byleth sits as Ferdinand takes his place from across her. “Now then, I do not wish to overwhelm you, so I will try to go slow enough so you can absorb this information.”

She gives a nod and he begins his lesson. “Let’s start with the tea set components. This of course,” he picks up one of the only two things she’s familiar with, “is the tea pot. And the tea cups come with saucers. But, you also have a tea caddy, a slop bowl, a sugar bowl and sugar tongs, and a cream jug.”

He gestures to each one as he explains their functions. The tea caddy holds the tea leaves, the slop bowl is to pour cold tea so a new batch can be brewed, the sugar bowl is just that: a bowl that holds sugar, preferably shaped into cubes. The tongs are specifically used to plop them into the tea and nothing else. The cream jug holds either cream or milk depending on a person’s preference.

“This set also comes with tea spoons!” He gestures to the spoon near her saucer. “You use it to stir when creamer and or sugar is added to your tea. But it should be a soundless action and never touch the sides or the rim of the tea cup.”

It seems like a lot of unnecessary delicacy for just drinking something. “Why?”

“Because it’s rude, Professor. The sound is grating. As I said, there is an art to tea, so I shall not be offended if you happen to do this the first few times. Practice makes perfect!”

He goes on to explain the difference between afternoon tea and high tea (“They are _not_ the same, and don’t let anyone else tell you different!”) but the former just sounds like a glorified lunch, and the later sounds like regular dinner except with tea instead of something like whiskey. Ferdinand also mentions that some tea sets come with little plates to put snacks on, or a singular plate to hold bread and butter. 

“This tea set comes with six cups, so the pot is large enough to account for all of that. And it also comes with six little plates for snacks. Porcelain is what most tea sets are made out of, but silver is also used to keep the tea hotter. However, it’s harder to clean and can leave an aftertaste of the last tea used. I myself prefer porcelain. Much more aesthetically pleasing, if you ask me.”

Well, this one definitely is recognizable. The porcelain is white with gold flourishes on the body that curl and twist like a vine would. In between the negative shapes it’s colored in a pastel gray. There is one small, generic flower shape in the spaces between each gray spot, where everything is just left white. They flowers are iridescent, but not so gaudy that it takes away from the rest of the design. This set has both organic curved handles and ‘feet’ where it rests against a surface, almost making it look like everything has a skirt, even the tray (discounting the saucers and plates). The tea spoons and tongs are silver, although the handles are made of porcelain with the same fancy design.

“Ah,” Ferdinand awes, “I see you are admiring its beauty! It’s very lovely set. From the Alliance, actually. It was difficult to get my hands on the first one, so I am surprised they mixed up and gave me this second one. Your focused stare tells me I was right to gift it to you!”

Taking the lid off the caddy, he says, “I was unsure of what kind of tea you like, and I cursed myself for not asking you beforehand. I hope you don’t mind, but I just chose one that is favorable to me.”

Without pause, he continues his lesson as he prepares the tea for them both. Apparently the host always does it. Otherwise it’s rude for guests to do it themselves, or something. Not even servants are allowed to do so. Then Ferdinand gets into the snacks, talking about the proper sandwiches and pastries to eat, but mentions it’s also up to personal preference.

Byleth thanks him for pouring her tea and he instructs her how she should hold the tea cup, which she painstakingly tries to do. The aroma of this blend is distinct. It smells like something herbal, and the taste is somewhat earthy.

“What is this? I don’t think I’ve ever had this flavor before.”

“It is not an easy variety to come by!” Ferdinand preens, gesturing to the tea caddy. “It is called Almyran Pine Needle. Almost rare to procure in Fódlan, but there are a few places that sell them in the Alliance territories. Not to everyone’s tastes, but mine are so refined that it is quite the treat for me.” Ferdinand takes a sip from the cup. “Ah, very delicious. Oh!”

He uncovers the sugar bowl. “Would you like some sugar in your tea? Or perhaps cream? I personally like this one as is, but not everyone can handle its flavor. In fact, I can list which teas taste better in general with a bit of sweetness added to it.”

She doesn’t get a choice as he goes on to list all the teas that are sweet, bitter, spicy (she didn’t know tea could be _spicy_, of all things) or somewhere in between. Byleth only nods as she munches on the sandwiches and other little foods from the cake stand. Ferdinand goes off on a tangent reiterating what kind of sandwiches should be served at afternoon tea, and which of them and the pastries go well with which teas.

_Is there more? This a lot to take in. I didn’t know tea was so complicated. I thought you just drank it and that’s that._

“—and do remember that afternoon tea must be done between a certain time frame in the later afternoon, like we are having right now. It is also held on a low table, but since we don’t have any here, a regular dining table will suffice. Now, as for high tea, that one is much more resplendent in that—”

“Hey, Teach!” Oh thank the goddess. Now she can have an excuse to leave. “And the Noblest of Nobles of the von Aegir house.” Claude makes a dramatic bow, his golden cape fluttering behind him as he sweeps.

“Claude! Good afternoon,” Ferdinand greets. “We were having a lovely chat over the topic and history of tea. Would you care to join us? I was just about to get into the menu of what one serves during high tea in the evening.”

“Y’know that sounds _super_ riveting and I would _love_ to brush up on my tea facts, but I’m afraid I gotta pluck Teach away from you. She promised to go over some lecture notes with me before dinner.”

“Is that so? A shame then….”

Byleth immediately stands. “Thank you for this lesson, Ferdinand. I learned a lot.” So much so that she’s forgotten most of it already. “But I would appreciate it if you could write it all down for me so that I can memorize everything.”

“Of course, Professor! I shall do so in earnest. Although I’m not sure what do to with the rest of this. There is still a lot of tea left over….”

“Lorenz is a tea aficionado,” Claude mentions. “You should try inviting him over. Spend some quality time with another finely bred noble.” Byleth can hear the underlying sarcasm of that last bit, but it goes over Ferdinand’s head.

He smiles, eyes bright with joy. “Yes, of course! I shall do that posthaste! Oh,” he looks to Byleth, “and rest assured I will clean everything up and then deliver the box to your quarters, Professor!”

Byleth gives her goodbyes before quickly walking away from the garden and to the entrance hall. Far enough away that Ferdinand can’t see the relief on her face. Or, possible relief. She can’t tell if she’s outwardly looking relieved or if that damn frown is there instead.

Claude, on the other hand, is failing at hiding his chuckling as she sneaks behind a pillar. “You really ought to be more careful, Teach. If you don’t tell him to stop, he’ll just keep going on and on about the fineries of noble pastimes.”

“Thanks for bailing me out.”

“More like I rescued you from a horrible fate. But that Ferdinand has good taste in tea, I’ll admit.”

“You like Almyran Pine Needles?”

“Oh, is that what it was?” he asks in a tone that sounds way too insincere as he taps his chin, looking up at the high ceiling.

He turns back to her. “Y’know, I’d think you’d look at least a little happy, or relieved, to get away from Von Chatterbox, but you’re as stony-faced as usual. Can’t really tell if you’re just feeling resigned that this is your life now or you actually don’t care about anything that’s going on.”

Something burns in her chest, and for once she hopes she’s frowning right now. “I care that Ashe is grieving over having killed his father.”

Claude winces. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. And wasn’t implying that the mission didn’t affect you—oh, you actually _can_ emote.”

Good. He can see her frowning. It’s what he deserves.

“Really, I am sorry, Teach,” he apologizes, actually looking guilty. “I know you care about us. You wouldn’t be a very good instructor if you didn’t. That’s what this whole Friday off was for, right?”

“Yes.”

He nods. “Thought so. I can’t say Ashe will recover from this right away, but maybe if you give him some time before you try to seek him out again, things will slowly start to get better. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

She doesn’t say anything. Byleth leans against the pillar, arms crossed. How much time should she give him? She can’t just never speak to him again after that. Is the weekend enough time? Should she try to eat a meal with him to talk it over? Or tea? The death of one’s father isn’t really dinner conversation, though. And definitely not something to talk about over an activity as frivolous as tea time.

Claude stands next to her, his back resting against the pillar. “Again, I didn’t mean to be rude. I said it more out of wonder; I just find you so fascinating.”

“By calling me stony-faced? Not that you’re wrong, but just because you’re right about something doesn’t mean you should always do or say it.”

Before she had told him that it’s not possible for her to get offended if something is true about her. Yet now, it feels… ugly, to still be considered impassive to the outside world. She’s not, and she hates that she can’t express it naturally. What good are feelings if she can’t even show them properly?

“Very true, and lesson learned.” He’s quiet, staring ahead as she does. “There’s something I’d like to ask you about. Able to spare some time?”

“I’m busy,” but she doesn’t move from her spot.

Claude huffs, although it sounds almost like a chuckle. “Is that right?” He turns her way again. “Well, I’m sure you’re already aware, but teachers are supposed to display an active interest in their students. Students,” he puts a hand to his chest, “like me. Although we’re all allowed to be petty now and again, Teach. You should do it more. Like you are right now. Maybe not necessarily to me specifically, but I deserved that this time.”

Sighing silently, she returns the glance. “Ask away.”

“You’ve taught us a lot about combat. So much that it’s not an exaggeration to say we’re more equipped for actual battle than the other two houses, and even the other classes of the Golden Deer. You didn’t get that good outta nowhere. Did Jeralt teach you all of that?”

“He did.”

“Thought so. But I can’t give him all the credit. A part of our success so far is also because of you. I think you’re doing a pretty swell job at dealing with people, despite not having interacted with many before. Or so I’m assuming.”

She mumbles her thanks and he continues on. “Your dad has quite the reputation, so I’m not surprised you do as well. Moving around a lot must’ve been hard on your mother. Did she stay behind somewhere?”

“Never knew her. She died when I was very little. Maybe not even a year old. I don’t even know what she looked like. My father doesn’t like to talk about it, and I don’t ask him about her for that reason.”

“Oh.” Claude frowns, a sympathetic expression on his face. “I see. Guess you had to mature faster than normal. That explains your unusual amount of composure for someone around the same age as me. While useful in this kinda situation you found yourself in, can’t say it was easy.”

Byleth shrugs. “I never much thought about it. I was five when my father taught me to use a sword.”

“That young, huh? Though not surprised your upbringing was way different than the nobles who grew up in the lap of luxury. Which is just about all of them here.”

She pauses before commenting, “You don’t act much like a noble.”

Claude actually laughs at that. Her shoulders relax at the sound. “True as that may be, I _am_ still the heir to House Riegan and the future leader of the Alliance. It’s like I said to Edelgard before: wasn’t the first time I’ve been told that, and it won’t be the last.”

“I never said it was a bad thing. That’s actually one of the things I like about you, Claude.”

A big mistake for her to say it, she realizes too late, after the mild surprise on his face slowly curls into smug satisfaction. The toothy grin on his face stretches from ear to ear, and one eyebrow arches upward. The other, by default, slants downward.

“_One_ of the things you like about me? So there’s more?”

“No,” she lies.

“But that’s what ‘one of’ implies. More than a singular. Do tell me, Teach, what are other things you like about me? Mayhaps, my sharp mind? My phenomenal aiming skills? My sense of humor? Or could it be…,” he leans in closer, forearm pressed above her head and against the pillar as his other hand rests at his hip. His eyes meet hers, “my handsome, perfectly structured face? I wouldn’t blame you if true.”

Byleth stares into his impossibly green eyes. A brilliant hue, almost gem-like in the way they twinkle with that pinch of mischief she’s come to understand is forever ingrained into his person. It’s what causes the corners of his lips to quirk when he smiles, or the specific curve his eyebrows take when he’s unabashedly intrigued and ready to ask a question he knows will cause provocation.

Yet it’s that particular impishness of his that’s become so familiar and very much ‘Claude’.

She plants her hand over his face, ignoring his muffled ‘oomph’, slowly pushing him away. “None of the above.”

“Aww, no need to be shy. You can tell me.” With the danger of stroking his ego more than it already apparently is? No way. “I’ll even trade you a compliment: one of the things I like about you is that you’re not pompous despite your reputation. I think that’s why you and I get along so well. Both misfits in our respective roles. You know what that means?”

“That you want us to stick together? We are partners, after all.”

“That we are! And as house leader, not only is it my responsibility to help you out, but it’d be my pleasure to do all I can for you. Which includes saving you from chirpy nobles who don’t know when to take a hint.”

He nudges her gently with his elbow, and she nudges back. “Do I owe you for that?” she asks.

“How about you and I just make more time for us to chat like this. Then I’ll call it even. With so many students vying for your attention—and certain cats who shall not be named—,” Byleth hums, her frown gone from her lips, “you and I getting time alone is becoming a challenge.”

“Do you like having time alone with me, Claude?”

At this he actually grows quiet, looking mildly contemplative as he stares on ahead to the statue near the staircase. “I think if you were to ask anyone that question, Teach, they’d say they do.”

She had been expecting some smartass remark or even flirtatious quip. And she’s not sure how to respond now other than, “I like hanging out with you too.”

The smile he gives her is one she hasn’t seen. Smaller, but it softens the usual sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Many kinds of smiles, grins, and smirks he keeps at his disposal. She’s learned to read the meaning behind each of them in order to keep classroom peace, but this one is the first that she’s scrambling to find an adjective to attach to it.

“Professor, there you are. Ah, good. You are also here, Claude.”

Byleth blinks away and looks to Seteth. The man is eyeing them curiously, and there it is again. Claude’s go-to smile worn at any given time to just about everyone. 

“What’s wrong Seteth?” She only asks because his brows are furrowed and fists are clenched at his sides.

“There have been… developments. Those of a nature that I cannot disclose here. It is these said developments that have now given you and your class this month’s assignment. Since you and the house leader are present, you both might as well attend. Let us go to the audience chamber. Quickly.”

Claude and Byleth exchange curious looks (or at least he does) but don’t try to get more out of Seteth before they follow behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You folks have _no_ idea how much research I had to do for the tea time shit. (I spent like 3 - 4 hours looking up stuff to make sure it was correct. Even looked up fancy tea set images.) I referenced English tea time specifically (I think) and there's just so much that goes into it.... I also had to revisit the cutscenes of before and after the Lonato battle in-game (I'm so grateful for the Event Gallery feature) as well as Catherine's supports with Ashe. I didn't want to give incorrect established lore.
> 
> Sorry about the length of this chapter; it's the longest one so far. I try not to make them too long because that risks leaving readers bored or exhausted in one sitting, but I just couldn't find a good place to cut this. The places I did meant that the other half would be too short, and I didn't want to just add filler content to make it a length I'm satisfied with. Thus, this long chapter.
> 
> Lots of stuff happened or was discussed here, but I hope it was easy to follow!
> 
> This'll be my last update of the year, since next week it'll be 2020! I still can't believe how fast this year went. Or that we're already near the end of another decade.... Since I won't update again until next Friday, I hope all of you have a glorious New Year's Eve & Day. Have fun and stay safe! 🎉🎊🍾🥂🥳🎆✨
> 
> I'll see you all next update, in 2020! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	15. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth can't help but feel guilty for Ashe's suffering over the loss of his father. A heartfelt chat with Dimitri has her feeling somewhat better, and helps her understand she actually does care about what the students think of her. After the Lonato incident, she decides it's best if she trains her class in fighting cavalry enemies. A trip to the stables gets her an impromptu chat with Ferdinand—who gifts her a tea set and begs to be allowed to teach her the art of tea—and a short conversation with Marianne about horses. The tea lesson turns out to be excruciatingly complicated. Claude happens to save Byleth with an excuse, but not without its purpose. In private, he asks her questions about her past, and makes a jab at her stoic exterior that leaves her feeling a bit sour at her inability to physically express her emotions. After a genuine apology, and his flirtatious teasing over Byleth enjoying his nonchalance, she admits to liking his company. She gets a smile from him she can't place, but Seteth whisks them away on important business before she can decipher what it means.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XV ⧽  
  
Saddling Up

“Someone’s trying to assassinate Lady Rhea?” asks Claude, once they’re filled in on the situation.

Byleth eyes the scroll in Seteth’s grip. Even rolled up, the edges are a little bent and crinkled. It’d make sense such an incriminating document would get several read throughs.

“It was found on Lord Lonato’s person,” Rhea explains. “After he was killed, Catherine had the body examined. This was hidden away in a pouch underneath his armor. It is actually what she had come to talk to me about earlier today,” she says, looking at Byleth. “Threats like these are not new to me—as I have told you before, Professor—so I am not too unnerved at the thought.”

“We must still take all necessary precautions,” Seteth reminds. “Shamir will be your personal guard until we can figure out who exactly is behind all of this.”

“I won’t let anyone get close,” responds Shamir.

Before now, Byleth had never seen her. Or even heard of her. When they first arrived in the audience chamber, Shamir had only given a nod and not much else. An individual of little words. Byleth can relate.

Shamir doesn’t appear to be knight based on her choice in clothing alone. A light jacket, a black bodice, form fitting trousers, and boots. The only thing a little less conventional is the teal color scheme (but then again Byleth isn’t one to talk, having been told time and time again lace tights aren’t exactly combat wear).

Maybe this woman is some kind of mercenary. Her dark hair is swept off to the left side in a short bob, strands poking out of her fringe so naturally that it almost looks intentional. Had it not been for how piercing her violet eyes regard others, Byleth would’ve thought she’s just a very fashionable bodyguard.

“With that being said,” Shamir adds, “I’ll be available for assistance, should you need it, Professor.”

“For what?”

Rhea folds her hands in front of her abdomen, as she usually does. “Your mission this month will not take your students outside the monastery. Rather, you will be participating in the security on the day we celebrate the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth. Under no circumstance is the ceremony to be disrupted.”

She gives her a sympathetic smile. “I know the most recent mission was traumatic for many of your students, so hopefully this one can give them a bit of reprieve.”

“We will be conducting our own investigation on the validity of this assassination attempt,” Seteth mentions. “You need not trouble yourself with these matters, Professor. Simply keep on as you have with your class. On the day of the ceremony, we will assign you an area of the compound to guard. For now, that is all.”

Byleth and Claude walk out of the audience chamber without another word. He had been surprisingly quiet the whole time after his initial question. Even now as they walk down to the reception hall, he looks lost in thought, rubbing at his chin as he stares at the floor.

“Alright,” she crosses her arms, “what do you know?”

The smile appears on his face as his gaze turns back to her. “Now why would you think I know something, Teach?”

“You’ve got that look like you have a million ideas you’re just dying to share, whether anyone wants to hear it or not.”

He grins at her, pulling her off to the side out of the way of passerby. “Don’t you think it’s strange? Lonato just _happened_ to have such a crucial plan on his person in battle? A plan that goes in detail about how they want to assassinate the archbishop? Either they’re crappy assassins, _or_—”

“It’s a distraction,” Byleth finishes, realization dawning as her arms relax again at her sides.

Claude snaps his fingers, pointing at her. “Exactly what I’m thinking. Consider this: the bulk of the knights will be busy guarding all of Rhea’s frequent spots therefore leaving other places with light security or completely unguarded. Now the real question is, what are our mystery assailants really after?”

They decide to hold off on any hypotheses until the next class meeting. After the lunch hour on Monday, Byleth and Claude discuss their hunch with the rest of the Deer. Most assumptions are sound, such as thieves wanting their hands on the monastery’s treasury for money or artifacts, and some are a little less believable like the food being stolen from the dining hall.

“While all of these educated guesses are good,” Claude finishes writing down the last one on the chalkboard, noting the dining hall as a solid ‘maybe’, “that’s all they are: guesses. We’ll need evidence, as much as we can get.”

“Our mission is on the day of the ceremony,” Byleth reminds, “but for the remainder of this month, I want you all to gather clues if you can. I’ll also be on the lookout for anything suspicious. But keep this between us. All we have is a hunch, and we don’t want some kind of overreaction within the monastery.”

She goes on to explain that when they’ve gathered enough information, Byleth will bring up the hypothesis with Seteth. She doesn’t know if he’ll believe the assassination is just a ruse, but she’d like to think he’s reasonable enough to at least consider it.

The week goes on as usual after that, though her class is somewhat quiet for the first few days. They’re probably still thinking about Ashe and Lonato, something she’s been trying to stow away at the back of her mind.

But it’s something she knows she’ll have to face eventually. For right now, however, her Friday evening is clear so she’s back to looking through the counselor’s box and answering questions. It’s here she recognizes a few of her students’ writing. One in particular reads:

> _I like my professor, but I get the feeling I’m falling behind the rest of the class. I’m still too scared to go out into the field, and I’m not the only one. But that means half of my peers are more experienced, and I feel like as a result, my professor is giving them more attention. I know it’s not their fault, but I just don’t know what to do. My professor doesn’t do it intentionally, but why would they waste their time on me and other inexperienced kids when they could focus on the ones who’ve already spilled blood?_

  
A sigh escapes her. Here in her hands is evidence of one of her worst worries come to pass. Half of her students _do_ feel like they’re being neglected. But what can she do? If she focuses on training them and leaving the other half alone temporarily, then said half will then feel like she’s neglecting _them_, and the cycle will keep going until her whole class has the collective thought that she really isn’t cut out for this kind of work.

Byleth slowly puts this answer back in the box. The counselor looks at her with a tilt of the head. “Everything alright, Professor?”

“This last one was about me,” she replies quietly. “I don’t trust myself to answer this.”

“Let me see if I can help.” The woman takes the slip from the top of the small pile, giving it a read three times over. “Oh. Yes, I can understand how you wouldn’t really have an answer for this.”

“I’m not doing it intentionally. But some of my students just aren’t… grasping the concept of fighting as well as others.”

“Not everyone is cut out for such a thing,” the counselor soothes.

“That’s true, but I’m still responsible for teaching them how to fight effectively. And if I can’t—”

Shaking a finger at her, the woman says, “No no, you mustn’t think like that. Everyone understands you’re doing your best. But if you can’t answer this, then I’ll give it a go. It’s fine.”

Byleth thanks her, and not being in the mood to answer any more, she leaves.

_Once again, you are being too hard on yourself._

_No, I’m being realistic. There was a possibility this would happen, and it did. And now I don’t know what to do._

_Have you tried asking your class for suggestions? You will not get anywhere by just making assumptions. Is that not why you are gathering evidence in the first place for the pseudo threat against the archbishop?_

_Asking them how I should teach them defeats the purpose of me being a teacher._

_Your students do not dislike you, Byleth. They enjoy learning under you. They will not take offense if you ask them every now and again about what can make their academic experience more productive._

_So, like a professor evaluation done by the class?_

_Not exactly, but if that will aide you, then I suppose it is a valid approach._

Well, she has been teaching for at least three months. And they’ve gone on two assignments already. She can get feedback from her class without giving away that she’s the one who read the note in the counselor’s box. Yeah, that’s a good idea. She’ll just have to write up the evaluation sheets herself. Or, make an order in the town from the printing press shop. But that’ll take much longer and might be a little expensive, but then writing 16 evaluations by hand will eat up her time she could be using to—

“Ah, um… hello, Professor. Are you… alright?”

Byleth stops walking, finding herself at the front of the cathedral near the altar. Ashe is looking at her with furrowed brows, but she can’t tell if it’s because of his concern for her or he’s still trying to process Lonato’s passing.

She can’t escape him forever.

“Ashe. Hello. I’m doing fine.”

“Oh. It’s just that you kept pacing around those two columns over there, so I wasn’t sure if you were okay.”

“Just overthinking is all.” He gives a small nod, then looks down to the floor. “Are… you alright though, Ashe?” she asks, leaving out the obvious.

He shakes his head. “I’m still…,” he swallows hard, fists clenched at his sides, “trying to accept that this is a reality. Lonato—he wouldn’t listen to me. He tried to… to…” Ashe’s fists tremble, his eyes watery, but he doesn’t cry.

Instead he looks up at Byleth. Taking in a deep breath and blinking away his sorrows, he says, “I actually wanted to talk to you, Professor. I have been, for a few days. Just wasn’t sure when would be a good time….”

Here it comes. He’s going to tell her he’s upset and she’s partially to blame for allowing him to suffer the reality of fighting against his father, and the unfortunate necessity to kill him by his own hand.

“Ashe,” she starts first, “words aren’t enough to describe how sorry I am that this happened. And if I could take it back, I would. I understand if you’re upset with me; you have every right to be.”

Now he looks at her with big, confused eyes. “What? Professor, you think I blame you for what happened? N-No!” He shakes his head. “What happened was…” His gaze is cast back to the floor, staring at the intricate patterns of the cathedral tiles. “The images won’t ever go away. But… you were the only one who respected my wishes. Actually let me have a voice.”

Ashe gives her a weak smile. “I didn’t get the answers I was looking for, or any at all, but I tried. And I was only able to because you gave me a chance. So, thank you.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to say. All she can do is stare at him as the relief pours away any anxieties she may have had toward contributing to his suffering. She opens her mouth, wanting to say ‘you’re welcome’, but that doesn’t seem appropriate either, and so she can only close it, giving a nod instead.

“It’s for that reason,” Ashe adds, “that I, um, well I’d like to take you up on that offer from before. I want to join your class if you’ll let me.”

“You… do?”

His smile is brighter now. “Yes. Even when I joined your students in training on weekends, I learned a lot more than I would have in my current class. And everyone was so nice too. You were patient with me—not that Professor Hanneman isn’t, but…,” he shrugs, “I already feel comfortable there.”

“Of course you can join.” His beaming face warms her core. “I don’t have the paperwork with me though. It’s back in my quarters. We can pick it up and then fill it out if you want.”

He nods. “Sure!”

“And Ashe,” she says as they exit the cathedral, “if you ever need to talk with me, about anything, I’m here to listen. And I’ll do my best to help.”

“I will, Professor. Thank you.”

They make the trip back to the dorms as Ashe informs her about where his class currently is in their studies. He’s apparently already set aside time to catch up on any work she might have for him so he’ll be on the same page.

When his eyes light up at being handed the transfer form, and how fast he talks about the reasons why he’d be a good addition to the class (“You won’t regret it!”), she feels like she must not be doing too bad at instructing if students outside her roster think she’s worth the investment.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Over the weekend she secures time to have a training session on horseback riding. She’s surprised to see Petra at the stables when she gets there. The Brigid princess mentions that she often comes here by herself to hone her riding and flying skills. Her class is still on the topic of infantry combat.

“I am feeling badly,” she adds, “that I want to go much faster in the lessons. Every time we have examination both on parchment and physical, I pass with many bright colors. Professor Manuela is a good instructor, but sometimes I want to be doing my own pace.”

“So you spend your weekends practicing riding horses and the flying mounts.”

Petra nods. “Yes. I heard just now about the handlers saying you are taking your class to increase their horseback skills. I am not in your class, but if I can learn from you, I would like to. But I also have understanding if you would say no.”

“You can join us Petra. Actually, I have an extra horse available. Raphael can’t ride mounts unfortunately. He’s way too big, so he’ll be following on foot.”

That wasn’t any less concerning when he so optimistically suggested he’ll run alongside them. Or if a horse somehow injures itself, he’ll carry it back to the stables. Lorenz questioned how rooted in reality that scenario was. Raphael mentioned it’d be just like carrying Lorenz around, “And you’re not heavy at all! You really oughta get some more meat on your bones,” to which the other gave an indignant sniff and said no more.

Her class is already waiting near the stables in their appropriate change of dress. Byleth had mentioned no flowing robes, capes, or skirts are allowed for this exercise. Everyone is also to have appropriate riding boots so as not to hurt the horses.

Marianne fiddles with the paper she had written down her lessons on. When she spots Petra, the shy girl asks Byleth, “Um, is she going to be coming too? I know Ashe just joined….”

“For today she will be. But even if we have one additional person, your lecture will be the same, Marianne. And I’ll be here to help if you need it.”

The quick nods is all she gets in response. Once her class is focused and Petra finds herself a spot to stand among them, Byleth introduces Marianne as their ‘guest’ lecturer on all things equine. It’s slow to start, and a few times Hilda has to gently mention to Marianne to speak a little louder so they can all hear.

“And now I’ll um, teach you how to properly saddle a horse. B-But this is just for casual riding and putting on armor for battle is different and um…”

“Dorte will be our other guest demonstrator,” Byleth mentions. The aforementioned horse has been standing there, blinking ahead in his silent way as his tail flicks away the flies.

Marianne strokes his snout and he gives a light huff. A small smile creeps onto her lips as she soothes him with sweet little comments about his shiny mane or his polished hooves. After that it’s as if the class doesn’t exist, and more like Marianne is talking to herself as she goes through the motions on saddling up her animal companion.

She takes care to brush his hair where the saddle will be situated, “Let’s get all the dirt out first, Dorte, so you don’t chafe or get blisters”, and folds a blanket over the withers on his back. Marianne flattens it out so there aren’t any wrinkles or bunches along the fabric. The saddle she lifts carefully over his back and gently sets it and its adjoining straps on the blanket.

Her nimble fingers easily slip every buckle into place along Dorte’s underbelly and sides. When she’s done, she softly asks for his front leg and gently stretches it forward, “so we can make sure your skin isn’t bunched up under there either. I know you hate that, don’t you, Dorte?”

Marianne takes the grooming brush and gives him gentle strokes along his snout. “We need to keep your hair flat here as well.” With the bridle in hand, she slips her thumb between the first straps, “Just open your mouth for me a little, okay Dorte? There, like that”, carefully sliding the metal bit between his teeth. She’s careful not to bend his ears too much as she slowly pulls the bridle over his head. She hums to herself again as she buckles everything up, leaving enough space for him to rotate his neck and not have the straps strain against his hide.

Her animal companion turns to them when she takes the reins in her hand, blinking as if she remembers where she is and who is watching her. “O-Oh, well, um yes. That’s how you do it.”

Byleth starts the light applause and the rest of the class follows after. A blush spreads along Marianne’s cheeks as she gives a quick, stuttered bow.

“You did great, Marianne!” Hilda cheers. “I learned so much.”

“And I must admit,” Lorenz starts, “this refresher on horse care was greatly beneficial. I myself know quite a few things, but your own personal flair added to it reminds me that there is still always room for improvement.”

“If Lorenz is acknowledging he has flaws—one of many,” Claude comments, which earns him a glare from the taller boy, “and Marianne is really up here speaking in front of, what, 17, 18 people? This can only mean it’s gonna be a good day. We can definitely keep learning from you, Marianne. There’s a special kind of skill with handling animals, and not everyone has it.”

His encouraging smile tacked onto his words has her lift her head a little more. “Y-Yes. Thank you, everyone. Um, well, now that you know how to saddle a horse, y-you should all practice and I’ll, um, come around to make sure you’re putting it on securely. I don’t want you to scare them o-or accidentally hurt them….”

Three handlers escort their rented horses of the day to each student. Byleth is only mildly surprised she’s given Petunia, but when she looks to Marianne, the girl is quick to hide her face away and remind Ignatz of which order the equipment is placed in.

After she’s done securing the last buckle of the bridle, she hears heavy footsteps crunching in the dirt. “Looks a lot bigger standing next to you. Petunia.”

“Father,” Byleth greets. “Do you need her for missions? I can take another horse.”

“Nah.” He strokes his hand along the steed’s neck. “My mission is tackling the monster of paperwork back in my office. But I heard you were taking your class out for their first ride. A little blue birdie asked if Petunia could join in on the fun. Couldn’t say no to such a request.”

She notices Marianne is purposely sneaking behind each horse to talk to everyone so that Byleth can only see her lower half at all times.

“You’ve got a good lot with you,” Jeralt says.

“The horses, or my class?”

“Both.” His eyes narrow when Sylvain swoops himself up on the saddle of his assigned mount. The boy notices his inkling of a glare and only waves at him with a bright grin, soon getting distracted as Hilda struggles to set her boot in the stirrup. She nearly falls over but Raphael catches her before she can.

“Did you all have to wear such tight trousers today?” Jeralt asks Byleth, not moving his eagle-sharp focus away from his red target.

“These are standard. You know that.”

He grunts, finally looking away from Sylvain. “He giving you any trouble?”

“None so far. He’s actually been pretty helpful in encouraging the others to try their best.”

“Well you’re the teacher,” he relents as she jumps onto Petunia with ease. “How long is your ride today?”

“It’s only the first day, so we’ll try to be back before lunch. But we’re also going to get some weapons training in down there too. If it takes longer than planned, we’ll probably eat somewhere in the town. Four of the handlers are coming with us. And Marianne has a lot of experience, plus I’m here, so things should go okay.”

“And the big guy?”

Raphael, in that usual innocent cheerful way, is laughing at how much taller everyone looks now, even Lysithea. He frowns for only a second, “Too bad I can’t ride ‘em, but I’m sure you guys’ll have extra fun for me!” before the smile is back on his face.

“He still wants to come along, saying he’ll run next to the horses.”

Jeralt rubs at his beard. “Let me look after him while you’re gone. You’re teaching how to deal with cavalry enemies, right? I know how to improvise with people of his size.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Byleth tightens the reins around her hand. “That’s one way of us indirectly hanging out. My spirit will be with Raphael.”

Her father huffs out a singular laugh. “Sure, if you put it that way.”

She tells Jeralt of Raphael’s strengths (axes, brawling) and that he’s got impressive stamina, but he’s not all that fast on his feet. Jeralt hums as he walks toward the boy, Byleth following behind on Petunia.

“Raphael,” she waves him over, “since you can’t ride a horse, for today Captain Jeralt will give you an alternative lesson.”

“Woah, really?!” His mouth is just as round as his big eyes, staring between them both. Leonie sputters in the background, failing at protesting aside from a variety of half-thought out lip movements and an audible huff.

“Just be prepared to work,” Jeralt tells him, crossing his arms. “I’m not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you’re my kid’s student.”

“No problem, Captain! Aww man, I’m so excited! I’m gonna get in so much good training today! I can’t wait to work my muscles!”

Jeralt looks to Byleth, pointing with this thumb to Raphael. “This guy’s got the right attitude. I like it.”

“He loves to train as much as he loves to eat. Take care of him, Father.”

“You take care of Petunia,” he says back, rubbing at the horse’s flank. “She’s been with me a long time.”

Byleth nods and says good bye to both Jeralt and Raphael. The handlers are on their own horses after helping everyone saddle their weapons and a few other supplies. She takes the lead down the steps at the back of the stables, the small mass of horse hooves clopping along the stones.

Anthony turns their way at the sound when they round the corner. “Greetings, Professor! You gonna take your class out to train?”

Petunia is reined to a halt as Byleth directs her students to follow the handlers to the gates. “Yes. We’re going to practice horseback riding as well as a simulation of fighting cavalry units while on foot.”

“Sounds exhilarating! I wish you all a productive day then!”

“Thank you,” she says with a small nod. “We might also stop by the town on our way back. Do you need anything, Anthony?”

“Oh, no I’m fine! But thank you all the same, Professor!”

“Alright. We’ll see you later.”

Byleth brings Petunia into a trot as she meets up with the rest of her class. They carefully maneuver their way down the mountain trail. She’s not too nervous; the trail has a stone wall along the sides for safety, so they shouldn’t fall over. And any travelers up the mountain just walk around their little group.

This month there have been a lot more visitors to Garreg Mach, and she can only assume it’s because of the Rite of Rebirth happening soon. Maybe a pilgrimage of sorts for Fodlanese.

What a perfect opportunity for assassins and other shady individuals to creep into the monastery. No doubt a few might already be here in disguise, lying in wait until the marked day. She’ll have to be extra vigilant of her surroundings.

_The monastery is enormous, though. I wonder what the real objective is?_

“The scenery here is so nice,” Ignatz comments. “I should’ve brought my painting supplies.”

“You can always just sketch it out,” suggests Leonie. “And then maybe challenge yourself by remembering the colors and things when you get back.”

True; the mountain path down to the town is something to look at. All the small farms with crops and livestock are trimmed and neat, with only the occasional cow pie on the grass in their enclosed range. The clusters of homes making tiny villages of the monastery staff are also free of any dirt or grime, but do have several stray dogs and cats roaming about. Everything below the mountain is a plane of green with the forest dotting it further away in the background. In the far distance is a vague outline of more mountain ranges. The Oghma range spans to their left, fading into a fuzzy blue the further east it goes. Claude wonders how long it’ll take for them to follow it all the way to Derdriu.

“What’s Raphael’s learning about right now, I wonder?” Claude says, loud enough that Leonie can hear from her space one over next to Ignatz. “Maybe Captain Jeralt is taking him on a special mission with his men. After all, I don’t think fighting cavalry can be easy without an insane amount of practice.”

Leonie shoots him a look. “Probably just regular drills. Raph’s strong, but I don’t think Captain Jeralt would take him out in the field when he doesn’t even know him.”

“Oh, sorry,” he glances her way, “was just talking to myself. Did you say something, Leonie?”

“Uh-huh, sure Claude. You’re not gonna bait me that easily.”

“Now why would I _ever_ do that? I’m just naturally curious, y’know. It’s not like Raphael’s gonna become Captain Jeralt’s new apprentice or anything.” Claude rubs at his chin, looking down at the horse’s mane. “But if he’s really good at whatever the man’s gonna teach him…”

Her stare narrows and his smile only stays plastered on his face. Ignatz clears his throat to say, “S-So, uh,” he whips his head around looking for an exit, relief washing over his face as he says, “Petra! It’s nice of you to join our training today. Do you ride horses?”

Petra brings her steed from a trot to a slow walk, maneuvering it right beside them. “Yes. I enjoy riding the horses, and flying on the pegasi and wyverns. We do not have any of those besides horses back in Brigid, and even then, they are few. Garreg Mach is giving me good practice for all three. What about you all?”

“Um, this is actually my first time riding,” Ignatz admits. “I’m a little nervous moving around so much, but uh, the view I get from here is nice.”

“Do not be worrying, Ignatz. I can help a lot if you need assistance. I promised Professor Byleth that I would be beneficial to your training since she was generous and allowed me to join for today.”

He gives her a small smile, nodding, “Thank you, Petra.”

“I know how to ride,” Leonie replies, her glare finally leaving Claude. “My dad’s a hunter so sometimes horses were necessary for chasing prey. I went with him a lot to learn the trade.”

“Oh,” Petra grins wide, “so you are liking to hunt? Me too! Most people in Brigid know how, but not everyone wants to keep doing it later. What kind of meat did you go after?”

Leonie starts up a conversation with her about hunting techniques while Ignatz listens intently, nodding every time Petra confirms something he asks. The three of them are lost in their own little world talking about meats and pelts and what kind of fauna Brigid has. Petra’s beaming as the other two keep asking her questions.

_She must like talking about home. Wonder if she gets homesick. Can’t say I feel quite the same._

“Claude!” she chirps. “You have been quiet.” Leonie makes a remark about that being rare. “Do you not like the horses?”

“Horses are great,” he replies, rubbing along the steed’s neck with gentle strokes of his hand. “I know how to ride. Maybe not as well as you or someone like Marianne, but I know enough. Though I mostly practice archery on foot, I can hit a target or two on horseback.”

“That is wonderous! When we get to the training ground down below, will you practice with me? I have always wanted to learn. Brigid has a lot of jungle, so horses are not much good use there. Only for riding along the shore or more open spaces, of which there are not many.”

“Is that so? Then sure, I’ll ask Teach about it. Brigid sounds interesting; I’d like to visit one day.”

Petra perks up, smiling. “Yes, you should visit! And you too, Leonie and Ignatz. I would love to show you my home. We have so many nice foods, the ocean is clear like a crystal, and the flowers and animals are many that aren’t here in Fódlan.”

“Oh, I’d love to see the ocean!” Ignatz exclaims. “Fódlan is so big, getting to our own beaches takes a while.”

“And I’d definitely like to taste the kind of game you have there,” Leonie adds.

The three of them get lost in another conversation, and this is the most that Claude has seen either of his two classmates laugh or smile. They’re so loud that Sylvain and Ashe overhear them, and then the five are discussing Brigid’s geography, people, and customs.

_Are they really that excited about learning a different culture? Visiting a place foreign to them? Maybe, then, there’s a chance that…_

Still, they’re only a very small sample size. And from what he knows of them so far, they’re good people. It’s the ones more rooted in their ways that Claude hopes to open their minds to be a little less narrow—

“Oh wow, the women in Brigid sound _gorgeous_.”

And then there’s Sylvain, so easily pleased by curvaceous shapes that he’d probably do anything to get more of them. Well, there’s beautiful women everywhere, so Claude surmises Sylvain counts as a definite ‘yes’ at least.

Leonie rolls her eyes, scoffing. “Is that all that’s important to you, Sylvain?”

“Hey I’m just giving a compliment!”

“But Petra was talking about so many other nice things…,” Ashe mentions. “Like the ocean, the way the sunlight casts on the water’s surface. It must be real lovely to look at.”

“I don’t see why both women and the ocean can’t be discussed in the same conversation, Ashe.”

Petra, ever innocent in her ways and so eager to share about her culture, doesn’t seem to catch on to Sylvain’s base desires. The next words out of her mouth nearly kill him. “Oh no need to be fighting! Sylvain is right. In Brigid, we have a few beaches where we embrace nature and wear nothing as we enjoy our time in the sun.”

The redhead chokes on his own spit and Leonie punches him in the arm. Ignatz looks down at the saddle, adjusting his glasses, and Ashe only mutters a small, “Oh my….,” with a nervous chuckle, face growing red.

“What?” Petra looks to all of them, blinking. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Different customs in Fódlan,” Claude jumps in with a shrug. “People aren’t used to nude beaches. Even suggesting it to the more traditional folk will give them a heart attack. We’re more private with our bodies, here.”

Or at least his classmates are. Brigid and Almyran culture isn’t so squeamish with the fact that sometimes, people are naked, and that’s okay. Maybe the younger generation of Fodlanese aren’t so opposed to the idea, and he wonders if Byleth is also—

Nope. Not going there. Not today. That’s not a question that needs to be answered right now.

Petra’s frown is deep. “Oh no. I do not want to give anyone an attack of heart. I did not mean to offend.”

“No no!” Leonie jumps in. “We’re not offended, I promise! We just don’t have those kind of beaches here. But hey, everyone looks the same underneath, so I definitely see where you’re coming from. And we do have the communal bath in the monastery, so, it’s kinda similar. I mean, we’re still separated by men and women, but you know what I mean.”

“Please, Petra,” Sylvain scoots his horse closer to hers, “I’d _love_ to learn more about these beaches, if you’d be so kind. They sound _very_ interesting.”

The smile returns to her lips again. “Of course, Sylvain. I am quite happy you are so curious about it. Where should I start?”

“_Ignore _him,” Leonie stresses, shoving her horse between them.

“Hey!” he huffs. “I’m genuinely curious about this particular aspect of her culture! We as Fodlanese should get to know all there is about other places. Right, Claude?”

With a laugh, he replies, “Oh definitely. So Petra,” Sylvain grins wide, “what’s that mark mean on your cheek?” And there it goes, his grin shattering, replacing it with a pouty lip. “It must have some significance, right?”

She nods, brown eyes bright. “We get many inkings… ah, tattoos—yes, that is the word—on our bodies. Each one symbolizes something different. Mostly for health or as signs of protection. I have more on my back. Would any of you be liking to see them?”

Sylvain opens his mouth and Leonie shoves him so hard, he nearly falls off his horse. He shouts as he catches himself on the saddle’s horn, immediately readjusting his footing and calming the startled animal. Ignatz quickly suggests that Petra tell them about the symbol on her cheek and if its color is part of the significance. Ashe agrees with rapid nods, stuttering that she should tell them more about the different kind of ‘spirits’ the Brigid people believe in.

Horny Horatio aside, Claude can’t help but smile at the sincere attentiveness they give the princess. Perhaps his ‘childish’ dream isn’t so childish after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to 2020! The beginning of a new decade! I hope it brings many more good things than bad for all of you folks! 💖
> 
> I caught a cold a few days ago, so that's how I'm starting this year. And I lost two days worth of writing because I felt like death. Hopefully I won't have to take another week-long hiatus to catch up, but if I do, I'll make a note here.
> 
> Did you know how to saddle a horse and put on its bridle? I didn't even know what a bridle _was_ until this chapter. Yet another little research trip into the internet I had to take. I simplified it as best as I could, so, to any equine enthusiasts out there, I'm sorry if I got anything wrong!
> 
> Surprisingly I don't have that much to say this time around. But to the Claudeleth lovers who are of the adult variety, there's a Claudeleth NSFW week happening on Twitter right now. There's some spicy things on there (and here on AO3), so, if you can find them, you won't be disappointed. 👀
> 
> With this new year, I've been thinking about advertising my updates on Twitter. (Used to advertise my fics from older fandoms on Tumblr some time ago, but then I stopped.) What do you all think? Should I try? I always get nervous adding my fics to ship tags on social media.
> 
> Next chapter is a first for this work: it'll be entirely in Claude's POV, so I hope you're all excited! And hey, thanks for the 200+ kudos! You're all super awesome! 🥰
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	16. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and Claude are told of an assassination attempt against Rhea, but the two believe it's a distraction. For what, exactly, they don't know, and plan to find evidence of it before bringing it up with Seteth. One of Byleth's worries comes to life when she reads a note in the counselor's box: perceived favoritism toward students who are prepared to take a life over those who aren't. Upon pacing the cathedral in concern on how to correct this, she runs into Ashe and faces her guilt over his suffering. But he doesn't blame her, and instead thanks her for giving him a voice when others wouldn't. It's this that prompts him to join her class, much to her surprise and relief. Over the weekend, she secures time to train her students in how to defend against cavalry. Petra joins them, finding Byleth's teaching pace more of her speed. Claude and a few of his other classmates keep Petra company on the ride to the training grounds, listening as she happily shares about Brigid culture. Their sincere interest in the subject makes him wonder if his life-long dream is achievable after all.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XVI ⧽  
  
Prancing About

Within the hour, they reach the training grounds at the bottom of the mountain. It’s an open field with a scattering of trees and shrubs that sits off to the side of the monastery trail but close enough to the adjacent town of Mach Foothills that the buildings are clearly visible. A few knights are already here; they’re probably the ones who set up all the training dummies and targets on wooden posts.

_Guess I won’t be taking a nap anytime soon_, Claude thinks. _Although that big shady tree over there looks so very inviting._

“Here is where we’ll have our first beginner lessons,” Byleth says to the class, “although we’ll make several trips here throughout the rest of the year. These skills can’t be perfected in just one day. Or even one month.” She brings her horse to a stop in front of them. The handlers remind everyone of how to get a horse to halt with the reins, some being more clumsy at it than others. “First thing’s first: we need to teach you all how to properly ride a horse. I want to see who’s good at it—or who already has some experience, and who’s better off on foot.”

She gestures to the wooden obstacles widely spread out on the field. Claude figures it’s to give people enough time to turn their steed around them. “First we’ll practice just maneuvering around these objects with the horse in a walk. Then we’ll pick up into a trot, then canter, and finally a gallop. At least those who are comfortable. Who wants to go first?”

Nobody is quick to raise their hand or move their horse forward. (More likely that they might not know how or forgot.) After a beat of silence, Byleth says, “Here, I’ll start then.”

The horse—Petunia, he thinks she’s called—gives a snuff as Byleth gently squeezes her legs against the mount’s sides, directing her to walk her around the obstacles. When Petunia reaches the end, Byleth guides her back into the course to the class. “So, like that. Starting off slow will give me an idea of how each of you will fare.” She’s still met with silence. “No volunteers? I can go in alphabetical order then by last name.”

Marianne brings Dorte to the front. “Um, I’ll go first, Professor. Since I… I helped with the lecture and um… I don’t want anyone to accidentally stress out their horse.”

“Thank you, Marianne.”

Just like Byleth, Marianne easily guides Dorte through the posts to the end and back. She smiles down at him, rubbing his neck. His tail flicks as he gives a blink.

Petra goes next, saying that she wants Byleth to see the progress that she’s made on her own so far. It must be a lot considering she was able to swing through all the twists and turns and smoothly steer her horse back around the same way.

Following her is Sylvain, then Leonie, then Lorenz, and pretty soon the whole class has their turn. A few people have to ask the handlers for help when trying to get the horse to turn back around, or the horse refuses to listen and just stands next to a post. Claude goes last, having seen it done 17 times and memorizing any mistakes his fellow peers have made. Byleth makes a note of each person’s progress with a simple nod once they return to the front.

“Alright,” she guides Petunia to the beginning of the course, “I’m starting to get a feeling for who will have trouble and who won’t. So all of you pay close attention.”

The trot is where the weeding starts. For Lysithea, she’s the first one who has trouble keeping her balance, being as small and lightweight as she is. Even just the bounce throws her off kilter. Byleth dismisses her, telling her to dismount so the horse can relax.

Red-faced at her failure, Lysithea mumbles her understanding and is helped off by a handler. She crosses her arms as she stares at the others, mouth in a tight line. A few other students also take their place next to her, sitting down on the grass.

Other people are a little wobbly but manage to stay on their mount through the course. When the canter comes, five others—including Ignatz, Hilda, and Ashe—have to dismount and join Lysithea’s little group on the sidelines. Claude manages to pass, but he hasn’t ridden a horse in a while. About four months, to be precise. The last time he did was at his grandfather’s estate in Derdriu. He’s already starting to feel the soreness from the saddle.

Byleth looks to him and the others who are left: Sylvain, Petra, Leonie, Marianne, Lorenz, and two others. People who already have some horseback riding experience, probably. “Those of you who remain, I can tell you’ve already done this before, so we’ll continue on. The gallop is the most difficult. It’s also the speed at which you’ll be attacking enemies on horseback should you choose to train in this manner. Don’t feel bad if you don’t get it right away, though. It’s difficult for a reason. I’ll demonstrate again.”

Petunia stands about a yard or so from the course. “Start with a trot first, and ease your way into a gallop. You can do this by increasing your leg pressure at the horse’s sides. But do it slowly.” Byleth makes a clicking sound with her tongue, signaling her mount to trot which quickly becomes a canter and transitions into pure speed. As the horse runs, Byleth keeps herself vertical in the saddle, lifting herself up slightly. She swerves and dodges around the posts and lets Petunia run farther away before steering her back through the obstacles.

“I don’t expect you all to do exactly what I did,” she clarifies once she’s within earshot and Petunia comes to a slow stop, “but that’s the general idea. You can even gallop in a straight line if you want. I don’t want anyone getting hurt if they’re not confident going through the obstacles at this speed.”

Glancing to each of them, she brings Petunia aside and out of their way. “Sylvain, you’ll go first. I assume because you were staring so intently at me as I was riding, you must have a perfect memory of what I just did. You were definitely paying attention to the maneuvers and certainly _not_ staring at my ass, right?”

“Of course not, Professor,” he replies, grin too lopsided to be sincere. “I was deeply concentrated in the route you took around the obstacles so I can pass this on my first try.”

He moves his horse forward next to her own. “But, I mean,” he leans in closer to her, “I think we can all agree that you look fantastic in those pa—,” he gives a yell as Byleth smacks the steed on its rear and it takes off. Sylvain recovers quickly though, and wasn’t lying when he said he was paying attention.

Like Byleth, he keeps himself steady in the saddle, body vertical, as the horse gallops through the obstacles and loops around in the distance, heading back to the starting line. He pulls on the reins and the horse comes to a screeching halt, the dirt kicked up by its hooves.

“See? I know what I’m doing.”

Petra claps and shouts a cheer. Sylvain gives her a thumbs up and an award-winning grin. “I will be going next, Professor! I too was paying attention. I will not fail.”

It’s Petra’s success around the course that motivates Leonie, Lorenz, Marianne, and the other two students to do their best as well. Both Petra and Sylvain cheer for them, offering congratulatory compliments when each of them return to the start.

“Alright, Claude,” Byleth looks to him, “you’re the last one. Show me what you can do.”

“With pleasure, Teach.”

He guides his steed to about the same starting position as Petunia was. Giving the horse a gentle stroke on its neck first, he makes the same clicking sound with his tongue as he lightly presses his heels into its sides. It takes off as he steadies himself on its back. He’s seen this done enough times that he should be okay. Yeah, probably, despite his sore backside screaming at him for a break.

Once he loops around the obstacles, he keeps his horse going forward before turning it back toward the class. Everyone’s expecting him to just repeat all the loops and twists like they did. Come to a halt in the same clumsy manner after having ran at the same default speed.

_Perfect._

Taking out his bow, he presses his heels against the horse’s side and it gallops just a bit faster. Claude steers it away from the posts and notches a padded arrow in his bow, taking aim at the nearest target (and one far enough away from the class or observing knights). It whirls through the air and hits the middle ring. The padding tears upon impact, leaving a red powder smudge as an indication of a strike. Not exactly a bullseye, but the fact he got a mark on the target at all is a victory.

He does this throughout the length of the course, hitting all the targets closest to him but never in the center. Sometimes just on the outer edge, or somewhere in the middle.

With a hand, he tugs on the reins for the horse to enter a canter, then trot, and finally walk back to where Byleth and a wide-eyed class is waiting.

“I kinda improvised; spiced things up a bit,” he says, resting his bow against his shoulder. “So, how’d I do, Teach?”

Byleth stares, blinking once.

“You did well.”

“Ni—”

“But for now, you failed this exercise.”

“I _what_?”

Lorenz snickers behind a fist. Petra frowns, and the rest of the class either lightly protests that he managed to understand the gallop so he should still get credit, or they shake their heads at him, yelling to stop being such a show-off. (Hey, if he has the skills, it’s a waste to not use them.)

“You know how to ride,” Byleth says, “and that’s good. But your form when shooting the arrows was off. You were twisting too much and taking too long aiming. The reins weren’t properly secured either. You head could’ve been cleaved off from an enemy before you even released the bowstring. Among other things.”

He dismounts his horse with a huff. Upon noticing, Byleth adds, “We’ll get to using weapons on horseback in due time, Claude. For now, though, please go retrieve the arrows you launched while I give everyone else their assessment of the exercise.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Sylvain chuckles as he passes by. “You did too much too soon, dude.” He easily slides off the horse, and strokes its snout with the reins in his other hand. “If you wanna impress a lady, you can’t rush it,” he says, low enough so only Claude can hear. “Take your time; don’t play your whole hand that early or you’ll scare her off.”

“That’s not at all what I was doing.”

“Whatever it was, you gave me tips on how _not_ to woo the professor. So, thanks for that!”

“No thanks needed.” _Really._ “We gotta help each other out as classmates, right?” he replies dismissively, already heading toward the first target where an arrow is laying harmlessly on the ground beside the post.

_Impress_ Byleth? The unflappable Ashen Demon? Yeah, he doubts anyone could truly, genuinely, impress her in combat. Which, he wasn’t doing. Or trying to do. He just wanted to…

…wanted to what? Show her that he’s capable? That she doesn’t have to worry so much about him when it comes to fighting enemies? That he’s a fast learner? Maybe all of the above? It’s not like he’s trying to strut about like a peacock, fanning out his tail feathers for an impassive peahen in hopes that she’ll decide he’s worthwhile as a mate.

That’s a weird—_very_ weird analogy, and one he’s not going to mull over more than this last second. Maybe he’s spending too much time with Sylvain. He should trick him into changing seats to somewhere in the back.

Byleth didn’t seem angry though when she reprimanded him. Or maybe she was and he just couldn’t tell. No, definitely not. She would’ve frowned otherwise, like the other day when he pressed a little too far. Yet he can’t help the satisfaction that veils over him thinking about it. After all this time, he was finally able to get some kind of reaction out of her otherwise blank expression.

Sure, it wasn’t… _positive_. But it _was_ proof she feels things.

_Wonder how long it’ll take me to make her smile? What would get her grinning like a little kid with cake? Oh, maybe soup. Tomato soup. Think she said she likes that one the most._

Even more rewarding would be to see her flustered or embarrassed. To imagine such a feared ex-mercenary with a vivid hue of rose bloom on her cheeks—now _that_ would be something. But one step at a time. It’ll make it all the more satisfying when he does. (So far, none of his flirtations have worked. Sylvain now being in their class will probably further weaken the affect.)

He’s done plucking all the arrows from the grass by the time Byleth is finished giving assessments. The next exercise she assigns is simple training with their weapon of choice. A warmup for when they practice fighting the handlers head on as their temporary ‘enemies’.

Shooting with arrows at cavalry when he’s not at high ground is a pretty big disadvantage. Claude opts for using a training sword to strike at the dummies to practice for a potentially inevitable scenario. While he’s admittedly not the best at melee combat, Byleth continuously stresses in lectures it’s important to be adaptable to the situation.

No need to tell him twice. He’s learned to be adaptable the hard way.

Petra offers to spar with him when the dummy gets boring, but more than once he falls flat on his ass. She’s fast, and all her strikes are precise and calculated. He takes a few hits to the ribs and the arms. The fifth time he lands on the grass, he waves his hand up at her to stop.

“Okay! I think I’m good for now.”

“Are you sure? I can be going more. This is fun.”

_Maybe because you don’t have a scratch on you, sure_. “Yeah it is, but I need a breather.” He takes Petra’s hand when she offers it to help him up. Byleth calls out to the class that they’re to take a 20 minute break while the knights set up everything for the next lesson. “Oh, perfect timing. Think I’m gonna take a powernap over there under that nice, shady tree. This new exercise will be even tougher, no doubt. Need to recover my energy.”

“Ah, yes that is a good idea. I shall join you if you are not minding.”

“Be my guest,” he says, gesturing with a sweep of his arms to the nearby tree.

Claude sits at the base of the wide tree, releasing a deep, relieved sigh as his back rests against the trunk. It’s a little warmer now, foretelling another hot summer day once noon rolls around. He closes his eyes, listening to the rustle of the leaves from the cool breeze.

Insistent rustling, because it doesn’t stop for a few good moments. Claude opens his eyes to glance up at the tree where Petra is now perched.

“How’d you get up all the way there?” he asks, standing.

“I climbed up,” Petra replies with a smile. “Napping on the ground is more dangerous. If you are in the tree, you will be safer. Why do you nap on the ground, Claude?”

“Little known fact about me, but I can’t climb trees.” He pats the rough bark, feeling it poke against his palm. “Not an excuse, but, where I grew up, we didn’t have such tall trees, so there was no need to climb them. The one we did have were pretty skinny and not huge and thick like this one here.”

Petra jumps down, landing on her feet in a crouch. “Ah, I see. I can be helping you learn. It is a very useful skill. You are an archer too, so it will assist with combat. Would you like to try?”

“Sure. I could use a few pointers.”

Turns out that as rough as the tree trunk is, it doesn’t make for good footing, at least for him. Petra practically swings up and around it to latch onto a thick, sturdy branch. Meanwhile, Claude feels like he’s going to scrape off all the bark with how much his boots slide against it.

After a solid three minutes of grappling with branches and bark, he manages to join Petra on the lowest tree limb possible. “Wow, okay,” he huffs, “that was _a lot_ harder than you made it look,” he comments, trying to catch his breath.

“I simply have more practice.” Her legs swing back and forth from the edge of the branch. “You will get better too the more you do it.”

“Probably, though I dunno how often I’ll be climbing trees.” Claude rests his back against the trunk. One leg centers itself along the vertical length of the branch while the other dangles off to the side. “But it _is_ nice up here. No one to bother you when you’re trying to nap. Thanks for teaching me, Petra.”

She smiles again, nodding. “It was my pleasure, Claude.”

Folding his hands in his lap, he asks, “How’re you liking the training sessions with us and Teach so far?”

“Oh I am having much fun. And I am also learning a lot of new things. Professor Byleth is very patient, and everyone is so nice. They are helpful when I ask. I was especially happy to be talking with Leonie, Ignatz, Ashe, and Sylvain about Brigid. Their smiles were shining, and that brought me great joy.”

“Then what do you say about joining our class?”

She glances away from him, hands on either side of her gripping the branch. “That is a tempting offer.”

“But…?”

Petra swings her legs again, staring at her knees. She’s quiet as the breeze brushes the loose strands of hair across her forehead. “I do not know if Edelgard will allow it.”

_Huh. This is interesting._ “If you don’t mind me asking, why would her Imperial Highness need to give permission for it? Professor Manuela is the one who signs off on the papers.”

“Ah, yes she does. That is true. But…”

“Hey, no pressure.” Claude gestures his hands up before resting them behind his head. “You don’t have to tell me. But if you were to join our class, I know Teach would be happy to have you here. We all would.”

Him especially. If he can get Petra into their class, then that’s one more asset to carry out his ambitions. Surely the princess of Brigid would understand what he’s trying to do—whenever he decides to share his ideals with others. Maybe not for a while. A long while. But the gods didn’t give him a charming smile and good looks for nothing.

“Me?” he starts. “I’d love to know more about Brigid. Though it’ll be kinda tough since we’re in different classes and all. Busy schedules, different kinds of homework and missions. There’d hardly be any time to learn. But if you were in our class, well, then I’d have you around pretty often to teach me all about your amazing culture. And you might even be able to give a whole lesson on Brigid to our peers as well.”

She hums, rubbing at her chin with her index finger and thumb. “That is making sense. My classmates in the Black Eagles are nice to me, but they do not share enthusiasm like you and the Golden Deer when I am talking about my homeland.”

“Not surprising. Brigid did go to war with Adrestia, right? Pretty recently, too.”

“Yes,” she confirms with a nod. “But I do not know if that is what is making them not too excited to chat about it. Well, except Dorothea. She is always willing to spend time with me.” Petra looks to him again. “I will be thinking about it, Claude. Your class has given me much fondness in just one day, but there are still things I need to be considering before I decide.”

Like how she’s going to get Edelgard to allow her to leave? Why? It’s not like Petra is a prisoner or anything. Although, Brigid is pretty far from Garreg Mach. Why would they allow the heir to the island nation’s throne into their academy? Was it Adrestia’s way of trying to make peace? Or, is it the opposite?

_Kinda shitty if that’s the truth. Even more of a reason for her to transfer over. Wonder if I can get Teach to convince her._

“Then I hope you decide to join us,” he says with a practiced, striking smile. “You’ve only been here for a few hours, but I already feel like you’re another one of the Deer.”

Petra hums, a smaller smile gracing her lips. “Thank you, Claude. That is meaning a lot.”

He makes idle chatter with her, like how she chose to pick up a blade over most weapons. She explains swords allow for close combat and are lighter than axes, although she’s good at wielding those too. Bows she doesn’t use as much, but she’s decent enough in the skill to hunt. She also knows how to throw daggers, but she’d rather practice with techniques meant for melee range.

She stops in the middle of her explanation when Byleth walks over, looking up at them from down below. “Break’s almost over, you two. Five more minutes.”

“Understanding, Professor.” With ease, Petra hops down, landing in a smooth crouch again as the grass crunches underneath her boots. “What are we doing next?”

“Practicing combat against charging cavalry. But we’ll be starting slow, like the new angles you’ll have to be swinging your weapons in. Those who passed the gallop test will take turns between riding the horses and defending against them so you have both perspectives. Or at least those who are comfortable riding at galloping speed.”

“I am excited to learn more from you. I shall go get ready then for the next lesson.”

Byleth watches her as she leaves, picking up her sword from where it rests against a post with the other weapons. Claude isn’t in any hurry. She did say they have five more minutes.

“You’re not gonna come down?” Byleth asks.

“Pretty comfortable up here, Teach. I’ll come down when the break is officially over.” He closes his eyes, listening to the birds chirping on branches some feet above. He hears laughter in the distance, maybe from someone telling a joke. Sounds like Sylvain, and a vague shout from Lysithea. Or is it Leonie?

Then there’s that noise of rustling leaves again. Claude peeks an eye open to find Byleth sitting on the branch next to his. Yeah, why _wouldn’t_ she be able to climb trees? Honestly, he should just expect her to know how to do to a handstand on a flying wyvern at this point.

“Alright, what’s on your mind?” he asks, closing his eye again.

“Why would you think something’s on my mind?”

“You’re quiet. That’s normal, but, you’re also staring down at the ground. And _that’s_ not like you, Teach.”

Quiet, like he said. Then she replies, “I want to apologize.”

Claude looks at her now. “For what? You didn’t do anything.”

Byleth continues to avert her gaze from him, rotating her ankles in a circular motion as she stares at her boots. “For making an example out of you earlier. When I said you failed the riding exercise.”

“Oh, that?” He gives a light laugh. Shrugging, he replies, “Sure, I might’ve been huffy for like, all of ten seconds. Then I moved on. Stuff like that isn’t worth staying angry or upset over.”

“Still, you did do well for the most part.”

“Thanks. I know I didn’t follow instructions to the T, so no hard feelings. Honest.”

She gives him a nod, going quiet again. Claude watches her as her fingers trace the rough grooves along the branch. “Something else bugging you, Teach? You can tell me.”

Looking at him with her big blue eyes, she blinks before staring down at her lap. “Part of why I punished you for not listening to directions was also partially my fault. Half of your classmates feel they’re getting left behind in combat training. That you, and all the others I end up taking on missions, are advancing faster than them. As a result, they suspect I pay more attention to those who do.”

Pausing for a moment, she adds, “You running ahead on the horse, being able to hit targets with your archery skills, reminded me of that. Proof of their worries. I didn’t want to worsen the mood of the half of class that feels like I’m not giving everyone equal attention. But it still wasn’t fair of me to make you take the fall for my mistakes. I’m sorry, Claude.”

Is that what’s happening? It’s not like forcing his other classmates to join them in missions when they’re not ready will suddenly make them good at slicing others open. Some people just don’t have the constitution for that. Plus, it could get them killed. He knows Byleth wants to avoid that at all costs. He too would rather his peers have all limbs attached to their torsos.

“Teach, you’re being way too hard on yourself,” he reasons. “Yeah, I agree it wasn’t fair to me, but like I said, there’s blame to go around. It’s not all on just you. And hey, you apologized when you realized what happened. That’s what counts.”

She gives a hum, and a slight nod. Falling silent again, Claude asks, “How do you know for a fact that half of the class is feeling this way? Did you ask them or something?”

“No. I just feel it in my gut.”

“Well, instincts are crucial, but you gotta get your facts straight too. Just assuming things isn’t very smart.”

“I know,” she agrees with another nod. “That’s why I’m going to do a teacher evaluation survey at the end of this month. I want to see where it is I’m failing my students, and how I can be better. I don’t want anyone to fall behind.”

Though frowning again, she doesn’t look sad or upset. But she is still staring intently at her knees, picking at the bark on the branch with her fingers. To think that someone like her has insecurities. But of course she would; everyone has them. Just because she can kill a man with a look alone, doesn’t mean she’d be all that confident in everything else in her life.

Has she told anyone else about this? Or does Claude get special privilege because he’s house leader? Or, does she feel like she can talk to him about anything because they’re ‘partners’? Maybe, on some level, she feels like they’re even friends?

Friends with Byleth. A friend who trusts him enough to elect him as her confidant. Part of him feels slightly guilty not extending the same amount of trust to her. But until he can figure out all the mysteries shrouding her past and her person, it’s still better to be safe than sorry.

Even so, he can at least comfort her. She really is taking this way too seriously.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he replies. “But I mean it, Teach. You’re worrying about this more than is necessary. This is your first time teaching, too. You’re doing your best, right? To the point where other students want to join our class. That’s gotta count for something. If you don’t appreciate the little victories, then you’ll keep comparing your success to the big ones that take longer to achieve.”

He smiles at her. “Every step, no matter how small, is worthwhile because it leads you to the finish line. And you’re running ahead of the other players pretty well so far, if you ask me.”

Byleth stares at him, unblinking. Her frown is gone, and though she doesn’t smile, her eyes look just the slightest bit brighter. “Thank you, Claude.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Teach. Can’t very well call myself your partner if I’m not, y’know, supporting you. Otherwise I’d just be a measly little squire, nothing more.”

“So, you forgive me for earlier?”

“Nothing to forgive. Like I said, stuff like that I don’t take to heart. If I took everything personally, then I’d be upset all the time. That’s no way to live. Sometimes, things just aren’t that serious.”

“Is that why you’re constantly provoking Lorenz?”

Claude laughs. Byleth sits up straighter, her legs swaying back and forth. “His oh so magnificent noble presence,” he says in a snooty voice, hand splayed out on his chest, “that we all have the absolute _privilege_ to feast our mortal eyes upon, needs the scepter of majesty excavated from the caverns of his nether regions. And I, Claude von Riegan, have taken upon myself the monumental task of dislodging it for all of our sakes.”

“That’s some metaphor.”

He grins, a trace of a chuckle surfacing to his lips. “Well I’m pretty creative. It’s one of my many talents. And your frown is gone now, so hey: a little victory for me. That’s what I mean; appreciating the small stuff.”

She’s silent as she regards him. “You’re a good partner, Claude.” Her voice is soft, almost quiet, as if he isn’t supposed to hear it. But he does, and loses his chance to respond once she hops off the branch. “We better get back. There’s still a few lessons I want to go through on this first day.”

_How does she just say things like that? _

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, not sure how to respond to the previous thing. The slightest inkling of guilt creeps up behind him again, but he shoves it back in its cave where it belongs. He can deal with that later when he’s alone in his room and staring up at the ceiling.

For now, he has no idea how to get down.

Byleth apparently notices. She holds out her arms to him. “You can jump and I’ll catch you if you want.”

“No no, I got this. Just lemme… um…,” Claude grips the tree trunk, trying to secure his footing on a tinier, thinner branch. Maybe he can use the lower ones as a kind of makeshift ladder, “well Petra made it look easy so I’m sure if I just… jump… like so, then I can probably land on my fee—augh!”

He tumbles down, a few of the frail branches breaking along the way. His body reverberates with pain as he slams onto the ground. Groaning, he sits up slowly, hissing as he moves his leg. “Well, that didn’t work.”

“I should’ve just brought you down myself,” Byleth says as she kneels in front of him, fussing. She checks his leg, her fingers running along its length for any abnormalities. His heart beats a little faster as she does so, only to jump into his throat when she presses around his ankle.

“Sorry.” She retracts her hand as if burned. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But there’s a sprain here.”

“No biggie. I’ll just…,” another wince as he accidentally moves it, “…have Marianne look at it.”

“Still, you’re going to the infirmary when we get back; I want Manuela to take a good look at it. No riding on the horses until your foot’s better.” Byleth takes his hand, gently running her fingers over his palms. “And look at this, you’ve got splinters. For the rest of today, you’ll be sitting out.”

She’s saying something else, but he can only focus on the fact that _wow_ her hands are soft. At least in the places where they aren’t rough from gripping a sword all her life. And her fingers are so slender and dainty. To think they belong to such a fearsome warrior.

“Claude?”

“Huh?” he replies dumbly, still staring at her hand.

“I asked if you want me to carry you back to the others.”

“No, I’ll just chill out here and watch from afar. My swollen ankle will keep me company, don’t worry.”

Byleth shakes her head. “Better to have it looked at, and close to the rest of us. We are out in the open after all. I can keep a better eye on you if you’re nearby.”

“Teach, it’s fine. I don’t mi—,” he gives a startled yelp as she scoops him up in her arms and stands. One arm supports him underneath the bend of his knees, and the other along his lower back, “oh, okay, so I guess this is happening then.” She starts to walk away with him in tow. “You really don’t need to carry me, Teach. Limping next to you is fine. Besides, I’m kinda heavy.”

“Faster this way. And don’t worry; you’re not.” She stares straight ahead, pace consistent. “To me, you weigh as much as a bundle of grapes.”

Considering her hold on him is pretty firm and secure, he doesn’t doubt it. But _grapes_? Surely he has more muscle mass than her (okay, maybe only by a little…), and he _is_ noticeably taller too. Which probably makes for an awkward sight, her small form carrying his much bigger one.

He can’t even properly hold onto her and—okay, no, he’s not going to acknowledge the fact that carrying him like this means her (_very_ large) chest inevitably has to end up in his lap and precariously, dangerously, _severely_ close to his crotch at this awkward angle and yes he’s absolutely going to think about how terrifying a nude Lorenz probably looks in order to distract himself and not have something embarrassing happen out in public as a result of—

Gods, is she really this strong? She’s not even breaking a sweat.

_Hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me._

“Y’know, Teach,” he defaults to what he knows best to ignore any trail of thought that he doesn’t want to muddle over right now and its resulting _natural_, physical reaction but a reaction he does _not_ want to have nonetheless and _damn_ him for wearing tight trousers today, “if you wanted to hold me in your arms so bad, you could’ve just said so. If this is what happens every time you punish me,” he smirks, lowering his voice as he slings an arm around her shoulders, whispering an inch away from her ear, “then I might just have to keep getting myself punished on purpose.”

“How do 500 standards of, ‘I won’t jump down from trees irresponsibly’ sound? Or 20 laps around the monastery after you’ve healed?” and she asks it so sincerely that he’s sure she’s not even trying to rebuff him this time.

“I’ll take my sprained ankle, but thanks for the offer.”

When they get back to the others, Lysithea chides him for doing something reckless, and Petra apologizes for not properly teaching him how to get down. She tries to take the blame, but Byleth assures her she did nothing wrong. Lorenz follows up with it being natural for Claude to act like a fool (which he doesn’t reply to because the hypothetical nude Lorenz he’s imagining in front of the class almost makes him chortle). Others ridicule him about Byleth having to carry him back, except Sylvain who is staring wide-eyed at the arrangement. He makes a whiny comment about wanting Byleth to carry him next, and earns a punch in the arm from Leonie.

Marianne takes her time examining Claude’s ankle, the warmth from the white magic soothing the pain somewhat. She fastens a stick around it with a bandage, saying it’ll help until they return to the monastery for him to be properly examined.

He can’t say he’s too disappointed. Sure, more practice with cavalry would’ve been useful. But he’s quite content to just lounge on the soft grass watching everyone else train under the warm morning sun.

And, it’s a bonus to see Sylvain all pouty like a little kid who had their candy taken away every time he glances in Claude’s direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude, six years later: I love a woman who can kick my ass.
> 
> Look okay, listen to me. Almyran culture values strength. Why wouldn't that also be a potential desirable quality when it comes to attraction? Claude's best pairings are the ones where said partner can easily benchpress him, even when he gets Big and Thicc after 5 years. You cannot change my mind.
> 
> As for how I headcanon the pre-timeskip height difference between Claude and Byleth, I found [this fanart](https://twitter.com/nekoninar1/status/1197563554510979072) does a pretty good job at illustrating it. Canonically, Byleth is about 5'4" and Claude is 5'9"; their heights apparently stay the same even after 5 years (most of the student units hardly grow for some weird reason, if at all), but this is _my_ story so our golden boy will become a little taller by then because I said so!! 😤
> 
> Originally I wasn't going to do research for this chapter, but then I felt weirdly guilty not doing so. I have no idea how to ride a horse, and I've only ever been on one when I was like, 10. Westerns and other fictional settings with an obligation to include horses aren't good sources of accuracy since it's more about aesthetics there. SO, I did my best to shine a bit more light on how to do this properly, but I still took a few liberties for the sake of avoiding information blocks.
> 
> I started advertising this fic on Twitter, so uh, if you see my little graphic I made for it in the Claudeleth tag on there, yeah, that's me! Graphic design is not my passion. Lmao
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	17. XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> During the class' first cavalry lesson, Claude shows off by shooting arrows on horseback. That earns him a reprimand from Byleth and a fail for the exercise. He gets over it soon enough—not wanting to assess why he wanted to show off to her in the first place. During a small break, he learns how to climb trees with Petra. It's here he also suspects she might not be at the academy of her own volition. Byleth spends the last few minutes of the break alone with Claude, apologizing for singling him out. She explains her worries about the class being why she made him an unfair example. He doesn't take it to heart, and tries to comfort her while trying not to feel guilty about not returning her level of trust. When the break is over, Claude has trouble getting down from the tree and sprains his ankle. Byleth princess-carries him back to the class, much to his embarrassment. But the reasons are only partially about her phenomenal strength, and more of becoming acutely aware of her body's curves now pressing against him in places he doesn't want to think about.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XVII ⧽  
  
Saint Cethleann Day

**_12th of the Blue Sea Moon, 1180 _**━

“Linhardt.”

“Hello, Professor.”

“Hello. What are you doing on the floor?”

“Why, napping of course.”

“In the middle of the dining hall?”

People are walking around them, giving curious glances as they take their food trays to the tables. Linhardt continues to lay there, a pillow nestled under his head. Other people nearby are staring at them, no doubt wondering what the hell is he doing treating the rug like his personal bed.

Byleth squats down, arms resting over her knees. “You can’t stay here. People might trip over you.”

“Really?” He closes his eyes again, slipping a hand underneath the pillow. “So far they’re doing a wonderful job of avoiding me. I make quite the sight right here out in the open, so people who trip over me can only blame themselves at that point.”

“That’s fair,” not really, though he seems like an argumentative type until he gets his way so she lets it slide, “but the floor’s dirty. Also you’re causing a disruption. People have asked me to tell you to at least sleep outside on the benches.”

Huffing, he sits up, hugging his pillow. “All I want is to rest. I’m not bothering anyone.”

Not actively, but there’s crowding now because no one wants to accidentally step over him. But considering how lethargic he usually is, she doubts he would make a fuss if it happened anyway. “Did you not get a good night’s sleep?”

“Those are few and far in between for me, Professor.” Linhardt stretches before he stands, and Byleth rises to meet him. The pillow is tucked under his arm. “I can’t fall asleep right away at night. Usually I’m up researching until they kick me out from the library.”

“What kind of research? Is it for class?”

Shaking his head as he yawns, he replies, “No. It’s about Crests. I’ve been interested in them for a long time. Ever since I was a child, when I found out I had one. Garreg Mach has a lot of books and resources to help me discover more about them.”

“Oh, so you’re like Hanneman?”

“Not exactly, no. He’s much more versed in the subject than I am, but I would like to be a Crest scholar someday.”

Sighing, he stares sadly at his pillow. “Well, I’m awake now. And I can’t bring myself to fall back asleep. I’ll probably take another nap in class. The room is so dark in the back, it’s enticing….”

His eyelids begin to droop, so Byleth suggests, “Why don’t we have lunch instead? You must be hungry, right?” She’s actually meeting Flayn here. Something about wanting to chat since they don’t get very many opportunities to hang out. Or even visit the other. Apparently Seteth likes to keep an eye on her at all times, and Byleth is too busy with her class to ever just look for her and spend a day with the young girl.

Linhardt gives a tired hum, nodding slowly. “Sure. Usually I’m bored by now at this point in a conversation, but, curiously I’m not this time, so lunch is fine. I want to see how long this lasts.”

They get whatever is the special of the day (some kind of vegetable pasta) and find a seat in the middle of a table near one of the windows. Linhardt doesn’t talk much, although he asks Byleth in-between bites how her class is going. He comments it’s strange someone her age is a professor—a comment she’s heard many, many times before.

It’s kind of getting old. This is her job. Do people expect her to just quit?

“Although, you seem like a relaxed instructor,” he mentions. Linhardt leans his head on a hand, and with the other, twirls his fork with a pasta piece punctured at the end. “Your class is the smallest by far. Smaller classes are statistically more successful in student progress. Less pupils means more time the professor can spend with each person.”

“I wouldn’t say relaxed.” Byleth clumps up broken pasta pieces to stab them with the fork. “I do make people train. But training all the time is detrimental; I try to find a balance of work and rest.”

“Yes, training is definitely detrimental if done too often,” he says with a smile. “That’s why I avoid it if I don’t have to.”

“To nap?”

He hums, giving a nod. “You understand.” Linhardt is quiet as he munches on the pasta. Poking his fork through a piece of zucchini, he twirls it between his fingers again before plopping it in his mouth. His head is still leaning on his hand, elbow propped up on the table. “This is one of my favorite dishes. I’m quite happy they’re serving it today.” He takes another bite before he asks, “Are you going to go to the service later tonight? For Saint Cethleann Day?”

Oh, that’s right. She almost forgot. The holidays of the four saints (five, if one counts Seiros) are celebrated in the monastery with a personalized sermon and a special dinner meant to represent the individuality of each. They’re also half-days in the Officers Academy, so lectures end at the gong of the lunch bell. She missed the last one, Saint Macuil Day. Seteth reminded her after the fact that she not miss the next one, Saint Cethleann Day.

“I’ll be attending,” she says. “How long is the sermon?”

“About an hour or so. Saint Cethleann is the patron saint of healers, doctors, and any other profession of relief effort. While the goddess blesses all and protects Fódlan, the saints bring good fortune to specific groups of people if they’re pious to her, or at the very least, believe in her divine grace.”

Linhardt blinks at her, his focus steady as he meets her eyes. “Do you believe in the goddess, Professor? I mean, I’ve heard you didn’t even know of the Seiros religion before coming here. I wonder why Captain Jeralt never told you?”

That’s something she wants to know herself. Did he just forget? Or is he one of the people who just chooses not to be devout? But she supposes that’s just another thing she’ll have to wait to ask him about.

“I, unfortunately, don’t have a choice,” he says, without pausing for her reply. “My Crest is that of Cethleann’s, so I’m pretty much obligated to attend. My parents expect me to do so as well. Although,” he taps his chin slowly with a finger, “I’ve always wondered how it is I have her Crest. She never married or had any children—and believe me, I’ve looked through every possible record concerning the matter.”

“Maybe it was a blessing onto your distant ancestor?” she suggests, just to make conversation.

“Perhaps. But the Crests are passed down through the blood. Could she have somehow given a transfusion of sorts to them?”

He’s left pondering, looking down at the table. His brow wrinkles as he thinks, fork idly stirring around the pasta left on the plate. Linhardt mumbles to himself, the only evidence being lip movements as he’s too quiet for Byleth to hear what it is he’s musing over.

“Ah! Professor!” a new voice chirps. She finds Flayn bounding up to them, a tray of food in her hands. Instead of the day’s special, she has a bowl of fish and bean soup. “I am terribly sorry that I am tardy. My brother was holding me up, but I am here now! Oh, hello Linhardt!”

The only acknowledgment of her presence he gives is a hum and a nod, still deep in thought. Flayn sits down next to him, looking at him curiously. “What is he doing?”

“Contemplating on something, I think,” Byleth replies. “We were talking about Saint Cethleann and—”

“Oh, yes, Saint Cethleann!” Flayn claps her hands together. “Are you going to the sermon this evening, Professor? I would be quite happy if you did. Under no obligation, of course, but I would be delighted to attend with you. My brother will be giving the first half of the sermon.”

She takes a spoonful of soup, her lips making a small ‘o’ as she lightly blows on it. “And then after that, the special dinner. Oh, I cannot contain my excitement!”

Byleth forgot what was served on Saint Macuil Day. But she knows for a fact there’s going to be lots of fish and seafood dishes tonight, in addition to several desserts. She only knows of it because Lysithea had mentioned it earlier in class, but was quick to dismiss the dessert part, as if wasn’t important. (“But it _is_ a saint’s holiday so it would be somewhat blasphemous to not eat their special dishes, including the dessert.”)

“Are we supposed to be eating anything specific?” Byleth asks Flayn.

The young girl shakes her head. “Not necessarily. But the dining hall will only serve fish and seafood dishes this evening. Oh, and a plethora of desserts! Saghert and cream, peach sorbet, the Sweet Bun Trio, and even pheasant roast with berry sauce, despite it having more savory flavors mixed within the sweetness—just to name a few! We cannot forget the cakes, pies, even the cookies and—!”

_My my, she is quite elated about tonight’s dinner. Are you going to attend the sermon, Byleth? I think it would be a wise idea to do so, if only to broaden your knowledge about the church’s teachings._

_I guess I’ll check it out._

_‘Check it out’? At least pay attention. But you wish to only dine on the holiday foods, do you not? I know you do; do not even answer me because right now you are thinking about how a fish pie would taste._

_I’ve seen them in bakeries before. The dough is even shaped to look like a fish. I’ve always wanted to try it. But grilled fish sounds good too. And buttered lobster and crab. With lemon. Shrimp skewers with grilled vegetables also makes my mouth water._

_Well now you have made _me_ hungry, and that is not something I feel normally! Just for that, you must sample everything._

_No complaints here._

Flayn squeals as she takes another spoonful of soup. Her fists tremble as she bounces in her seat. “Truly it will be a feast! I am certainly fortunate to have my birthday coincide with this day. As if the saint herself is blessing me with the most delicious of delectables.”

Linhardt snaps out of whatever entanglement of thoughts he had been in for several moments. “It’s your birthday today?”

“Yes! I did not mention it before; it just seems like a topic that does not necessarily need to be spread. My birthdays have always been small, usually just my brother and I. And I do not wish for people to make a fuss about it.”

Had Byleth known it was her birthday, she would’ve gifted her something. Flayn likes sweets, so maybe she can buy her some kind of pastry from the marketplace, or from a bakery in Mach Foothills. Would a sweet-flavored tea also count? She could ask Ferdinand, but then he might go off on a tangent again and she wants to avoid such an ill fate on the off chance Claude isn’t nearby to sweep her to safety.

_Oh, I wonder how he’s doing? I should check on him._

_Perhaps you should carry him in your arms again. You were certainly determined to do so last time._

_Why would I do that? He had a sprained ankle before._

_Yet he could have simply leaned on your shoulder as he limped back. But you were quite insistent on carrying him and keeping him close._

_I didn’t want it to get worse._

_Yes, of course. Obviously._

“—but it’s curious that you’re not allowed to join the Officers Academy,” Linhardt says to Flayn, bringing Byleth’s attention back to her tablemates. “You look old enough to be a student. What’s your age?”

“Oh, I am—,” she takes another sip of soup, “I am the same age as everyone here. It is such a silly question to ask, do you not agree?”

Linhardt furrows his brow, studying her face. “Based on what I’ve observed from the student population, you look at least 16 or 17. Maybe even younger. And yet your manner of speech is teetering on archaic. No one else talks like that, not even someone like Ferdinand or Lorenz.”

“Ah, y-yes I am 17 years of age. Today. My physical youth is deceptive, but I am absolutely 17. That is my age. Certainly,” she replies, looking down at her bowl. Linhardt continues to stare at her, eyes narrowing, a finger tapping against his cheek as he thinks. “S-So, Professor,” Flayn smiles at Byleth, “I hope this is not bothersome, but I wanted to ask if you might do me a favor.”

“Sure. What kind of favor?”

Flayn folds her hands together, resting them on the table. “There is a particular species of fish called the Carassius that is used for the ceremony honoring Saint Cethleann. It is a large, white fish with scales that shimmer in an iridescent pale green. About,” she widens the gap between her hands, looking down, inching the spacing once more. It’s almost as long as a dinner tray, “yes, of this size.”

Sighing, she continues, “My brother has given me the task of obtaining it, but I have yet to be fortunate in such an endeavor. I have even acquired the special bait said to attract the Carassius. Only a particular type of snail that appears during the summer rains will bring it out of hiding wherever it may swim.”

Bowing her head, she says, “I am absolutely apologetic that I am asking you to do this for me on such short notice! There are only a few hours before the ceremony, but I am at my wit’s end! I have been trying to obtain it for nearly a week now! As much as I am a fish connoisseur, admittedly I am lacking in the skill to acquire them from the earth’s waters….”

Linhardt cuts in then. “A rare species of fish? I would’ve offered to catch it for you had I known you wanted something like this, Flayn. I’m actually fond of fishing.” A surprise, really, since Byleth thought he just spent most of his leisure time sleeping in his room. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Professor.” Whoops. “I do have interests outside of Crests and napping.”

A small smile spreads on his lips. “Although, I have to say, it’s nice seeing you look so incredulous. I heard from Professor Hanneman that you were frowning the last time you two talked.”

“…Is that what he said?” She hopes that’s the full extent to which he shared information. Linhardt, being as sharp and inquisitive as he is, will no doubt deduce easily that she has a Crest, otherwise. “I didn’t know me emoting is hot gossip.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He shrugs. “When you first got here, everyone pretty much noticed your face was impassive daily, as in, all day no matter what happened. Even the most stoic and solitary of people, like Dedue or Felix for example, have a wider range of visible expressions.” Biting into another forkful of pasta, he points the utensil to her. “Yours, however, have only been one. Well, until the frowning. And now you’re looking like I’ve lost my mind,” he says in a lighter tone.

Flayn pouts at him, shooing her hand his way. “Do not be so rude, Linhardt! Professor, whether or not you are able to visibly express how you are feeling internally, you do have feelings. How you choose to display them should be of no importance.”

Her warm smile soothes her nerves, and she lets out a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding. “Thanks, Flayn. And yes, I’ll catch that fish for you. After lunch.”

“Oh, thank you so very much, Professor! I will reward you for your efforts, whether you catch it or not! That is a promise.”

Byleth listens to her duo of company as they go off on a detailed discussion about fishing, types of lures and bait, when certain fish are in season—stuff she should probably be writing down if she wants to catch the Carassius, or any other kind of uncommon fish in the future. It’s meant to be a hobby though. One where she doesn’t have to think about anything and just let the soft ripples of the water lull her into an easy trance.

After lunch, she keeps her word and goes to the large pond to attempt it. Flayn had given her a small, bronze box of bait where the shell-less snails lay, waiting for their tiny soft bodies to be punctured by a gleaming hook.

Idly she wonders how snails taste. When Linhardt had seen the box, he mentioned his confusion as to why snails are considered gross, but crabs, lobsters, and other crustaceans aren’t, “because they’re essentially insects themselves; they just live in the water.”

Then he gave a singular chuckle at her when her eyes widened. “You didn’t know, Professor? We’ve technically been eating bugs this whole time.” Flayn got a good giggle out of it too.

Well, she can now count two emotions she’s learned how to externally express: discontent, and feeling stupid. Not the best combination. But she supposes it’s progress.

_You did not know crustaceans are insects?_

_I’m not exactly a zoologist, Sothis. They don’t look like bugs._

_Yes they do. From their body shapes alone, they are not fish. And having exoskeletons instead of a shell excludes them from being considered mollusks. They are not cephalopods either like octopuses and squid. Neither are they echinoderms like sea stars. What else could they have been?_

_Are you an expert in aquatic life or something?_

_No. I simply thought it common sense to give one gander at them and realize, ‘oh, these creatures have more than four legs and lack scales, fins, fur, shells, or feathers. They must be insects’._

_Who the hell just thinks something like that when looking at a lobster dinner? The only thing I’m thinking about is if I’ll be able to eat another._

_Goodness, you are certainly a glutinous child._

_Technically, I’m eating for two: myself _and_ you._

_Please do not ever say that aloud, for the goddess’ sake. Lest you intend to give others reasons for assumptions. And I believe I know just who they will suspect is responsible for consummating with you._

_How did we get from lobsters being bugs to people thinking I’m pregnant? And tell me who you assume people will believe I slept with, since you’re being so smug about it._

_Suddenly I am… very lethargic… and exhausted…. I think I shall retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind for my much needed nap. Until our next exchange, Byleth._

_Sothis. Hey you can’t just leave after saying that. Sothis!_

Byleth exhales a heavy sigh, shaking her head. Lately the little gremlin sharing her headspace has been a lot chattier about how Byleth interacts with certain students. She’s a professor. She’s supposed to interact with them. That’s kind of her job.

_Whatever._

Casting her line, she sits on the tiles, watching the string bob up and down with the gentle shift of waves from the pond. Occasionally a dragonfly will skirt the surface of the water, but other than that, no movement.

Such a prolonged talk of sea animals has her craving a nice, fat lobster. Maybe with a healthy side of cooked and seasoned vegetables, or a small serving of buttered rice. Crab legs also make her mouth water, and shrimp soup doesn’t sound too bad either. It’s already scorching out anyway. What does it matter that she’ll only be dowsing her stomach with hot liquids on top of that?

“You. I have seen you around.”

The deep, almost sluggish tone is one she’s never heard. Looking to her left, she finds a tall man standing there. A man with a mask over his eyes, and the same color of strawberry blond—almost brown—hair that reminds her of Mercedes. Long, straight locks are tied back neatly with a hairband.

A masked man. There’s only one who fits that description out of everyone in the monastery.

“You’re Professor Jeritza,” she says.

“I am. And you are Professor Byleth Eisner, correct?”

She nods. “That’s me. Can I help you with anything?”

He stares at her in silence. Some students nearby greet him in passing, but they’re ignored. Byleth manages to give them a wave instead, which they return before whispering among themselves, glancing over their shoulders at the stoic man.

“Today is a half day,” he says. “So you no longer have any classes to teach.”

“Yes,” she replies, slowly. “Did you need me to run errands? Or is there a meeting with the other faculty I don’t know of?”

“Nothing of the sort.” Again he studies her, eyeing the iron sword she has sheathed at her side. “You have made much progress with training your students for combat.”

“I have. Their performance is excellent so far when we go on missions, but there’s always room for improvement.”

“That’s reassuring of your prowess.” His stare remains focused on the blade before meeting her eyes. “Would you care to spar?”

Lifting up her fishing rod slightly to show him, she says, “Can’t right now. I’m trying to catch a fish for Flayn. It’s urgent.”

“Flayn….” He says the girl’s name slowly, testing its sound along his tongue. “She is the small girl with green hair in curls.”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

Again he’s silent. It’s kind of weird, and she really shouldn’t be one to talk. But Jeritza’s stare is a little unnerving. (Now she understands how people feel about her blank face.) He never severs their eye contact, not even when her line tugs the rod in her hand. Byleth yanks it out of the water, but the only thing flapping at the end is a common carp.

Not having a basket, she unhooks the fish and tosses it back. Why didn’t she bring a bucket or even a basket? Maybe the small shack on the other side of the pond will have some for rent.

“Your students aren’t as strong as you,” Jeritza comments, watching as the carp swims back down into the water. “Yet your class is constantly sent on dangerous missions. When they are closer to your skill level, you should consider training them in leadership. There is solitude on the battlefield…,” he looks up at the sky, “but there are limits to what one can achieve alone. The battalion guild. To be stronger, more efficient…. Go there.”

“I’ll… do that. Thank you for the suggestion.”

He blinks at her before turning on his heel to walk away.

_So, that’s Jeritza. What a strange man._

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth manages to catch the Carassius about an hour before the sermon. Flayn meets her inside the dining hall and jumps up and down with glee, the brightest of smiles on her face. She says she’ll take the ceremonial fish to the cathedral and that she’ll save a spot for Byleth somewhere in the front row of pews.

When she gets there later, people are still filing in. There are a lot of villagers attending, and less of the students, but she does recognize a few faces. Mercedes and Marianne sit together somewhere in the middle, and Ferdinand has nabbed himself one of the front row seats next Lorenz. Linhardt is within a dimmer section of the pews near the pillars. He’s already asleep with his neck bent over the backrest. Others she’s sure are only there by some kind of obligation.

Seteth walks up to her from the crowd. “Professor, it is good to see you this evening. You did not forget this particular saint’s day.”

“You said I should be more mindful, so that’s what I’m doing. Plus, Flayn wanted me to attend; I can’t say no to her.”

In a rare turn of events, Seteth actually smiles. It’s very small, but fond at the mention of the young girl’s name. “Well, I am pleased that you accepted Flayn’s invitation. And I also wanted to give my thanks for helping her find the Carassius.”

“I was happy to help. What do you use it for? Eating a special dish?”

“No. Several body parts of the Carassius are used in medicine, including the bones. Their healing properties are quite potent. It was Saint Cethleann’s favorite fish for this reason, aside from her finding its outward appearance striking.”

“So it’s not edible?” That’s a damn shame, it really is. And here Byleth was imagining what it’d taste like. Sweet or spicy, or sour. It probably tastes bland. Might need a lot of salt. Or some spices and herbs.

“You can consume it,” Seteth folds his arms behind his back as he stands, “however it is not very delectable. Most medicinal ingredients usually aren’t.”

“Is that why kids hate taking medicine?”

“Yes, you can say so,” he replies lightly.

Flayn bounds up to them, taking Byleth’s hands in her own. “Thank you again for catching the fish, Professor! Now we shall have a proper ceremony in honor of Saint Cethleann! I am positive she will enjoy tonight’s sermon.”

Seteth smiles at his younger sister. “Remember to quiet down while Lady Rhea is preaching, Flayn. Especially since you are going to be sitting in the front. Speaking of, I ought to be going. It is almost time.” He gives them both a nod and then disappears into the crowd again.

“Let us get our seats, Professor! They are reserved! Come!” Flayn guides her by the hand to the front-most pew on the right. The younger girl nestles herself there and pats the space beside her. Byleth takes her seat, idly watching others chat or find their own spaces.

“Is your class attending?” asks Flayn.

“I saw two of my students here, but I don’t know about the rest.”

She nods. “Normally, a professor will accompany their class to at least one of the saints’ days.” She wrings her hands in her lap. “But I suppose you did not know, and you were busy for several hours trying to catch the fish for me. There was not adequate time to inform them of it—oh, I should have gone to them in your stead! It is the least I could have done!” She balls her hands into fists, striking lightly at her lap. “My greatest apologies, Professor….”

“Flayn, it’s really okay. I’ll take them to another one if possible. I’m not mad or anything.”

“Alright, if you are not upset by it, then I suppose it does no one any good for me to also be upset as well.” Flayn looks up at her with a sweet smile, the chandelier light casting rosy hues along her cheeks. “You truly are a compassionate individual, Professor. It is with my greatest hope and all my will, that that same quantity of compassion is bestowed upon you by others as well.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to say to that. It’s a little exaggerated, in all honesty. She never thought of herself as particularly kind or nice. If she’s wrong, then she’ll apologize. If she makes a mistake, then she’ll fix it. And if people need a job done, then she’ll do it. They ask her because they believe in her ability to complete it. She’s being depended on because they trust her. See her as reliable.

Is she even capable of being genuinely kind? Surely, there’s something wrong if her idea of kindness is stuck to common sense, and not because it’s a thing she feels. Ashe had told her she was kind, but is she really? Or is she just fulfilling her duty as the person others depend on?

These aren’t thoughts she wants to stew over. Not right now anyway.

On her left, the seats are strangely empty. She doesn’t get a chance to ask Flayn why once she sees Dimitri and Edelgard walking her way. Upon noticing her, the prince smiles and greets, “Professor, I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“Flayn invited me. Are you two here for the sermon?”

“The house leaders are obligated to attend every saints’ holiday,” Edelgard says, taking her seat just as Dimitri is next to Byleth. They bump into each other, and the princess gives her companion a hard stare. “Dimitri.”

“Apologies, Edelgard. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I was just—”

“Yes, but it seems we have the same idea. One that cannot be resolved fairly.”

Both of them stare at each other for a silent minute, unmoving. Then Dimitri sighs. He moves to sit beside Flayn, looking the slightest bit down. Edelgard takes her seat next to Byleth, posture straight as she daintily crosses her leg over the other.

_Were they just fighting over who gets to sit next to me?_

“Professor,” Dimitri sits upright so Byleth can see him over Flayn, “where’s Claude? He should be here with us.”

“Haven’t seen him since class ended, actually.”

Shaking her head, Edelgard says, “I wouldn’t worry about it. You won’t get reprimanded for him not being here. But he ought to take his responsibilities more seriously.”

“I’m positive he simply got caught up in other things,” Dimitri offers. “Half-days don’t come often, so he’s allowed a little bit of leisure time.”

“As house leader, there are still obligations he needs to fulfill. Professor Byleth can’t be the only one to guide the class, after all.”

Flayn puts a finger to her lips. “Sssh, the sermon is about to start!”

Byleth ignores the whispered bickering of the two house leaders. Flayn shakes her arm to tell her how excited she is for the service to begin. She lets the small girl hold her hand as they rest on Byleth’s knee. Edelgard gives a seemingly uninterested glance at it before looking straight ahead again.

_Why _isn’t_ Claude here? Where could he be?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that was actually a lot longer and did include a scene with Claude. But by the time I finished writing it, I realized it was _too_ long for my liking. Got very, uh, caught up in adding my own takes of the FE3H worldbuilding, and in addition to the Claude scene, it became around 10k words. Didn't like that length, so I split it.
> 
> I'm glad all of you enjoyed his solo POV last chapter, though. I do very much enjoy writing him because he's just so fun to write for. 😂He'll get a few more, probably, and I think I know where to place the next one, too.
> 
> Linhardt is my favorite Black Eagles kid, so I wanted to give him some spotlight. (I also found it hilarious that you can find him literally sleeping on the dining hall floor in one chapter of the game lmao) He's such a fucking mood for me. Doesn't like violence, wants to sleep and indulge in his interests? I can absolutely vibe with that.
> 
> So, school starts for me next week (eww) and I'm not too happy about it. Could've sworn I had another week of winter break.... Updates should still be consistent, but I do have a Friday class this semester. New chapters might not be uploaded until the evenings on those days, or they might even be uploaded on Saturdays, at least until school is over. Just wanted to let you folks know, in case you don't see Chapter 18 here next Friday.
> 
> Did you all see the FE3H announcement yesterday? About the 4th wave DLC? We're getting new recruitable characters, and a new side story! I, for one, am glad my fanfic isn't too far along yet. It gives me a chance to play the side story and get to know the new units so I can somehow incorporate them into my fic. Might have to do a 3rd Golden Deer run as a result, since I'm already on Chapter 10 of my 2nd one. Oof.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	18. XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth spends a lunch hour with Linhardt and Flayn after finding the former napping in the dining hall. She learns of his interests in Crests and that he himself bears the sigil of Saint Cethleann. Flayn happens to have her birthday coincide with Saint Cethleann Day. For some reason, she becomes a little awkward when Linhardt asks how old she is. After lunch, Byleth takes on a request from the small girl: to help her catch the Carassius, a fish used in the ceremony honoring Saint Cethleann. As Byleth does so, the ever elusive Jeritza finally appears. Rejecting his sparring invitation, he then tells her to visit the battalion guild for class longevity in that eerie, flat tone of his. Even for someone like Byleth, she admits to herself he can be a bit unsettling. Once she's caught the fish later that evening, Byleth joins Flayn at the front of the cathedral. Edelgard and Dimitri join them, and it's where Byleth learns the house leaders are obligated to attend every saints' day sermon. But Claude is strangely absent, and she wonders where he could've gone off to.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XVIII ⧽  
  
One Key Out of Many

The cathedral grows quiet as the pipe organ bellows throughout the grand space. A trail of squires in white and silver robes walk down the aisle, carrying two tall candelabras, and a pole with the Crest of Cethleann emblazoned on the center of the tapestry. Seteth follows behind them, a book in his hand. Most likely the Seiros holy tome of the goddess’ teachings.

He helps position the pole at the center while the squires set up the candelabras on either side. One of them hands him a small, lit candle. Seteth thanks them and then lights the other candles himself. Clearing his throat, he looks to the audience.

“Fair people of Fódlan,” he starts in a loud voice as it echoes throughout the cathedral, “thank you for attending tonight in honor of Saint Cethleann. It is on this day that she was brought into the world, and with her, a sincere and genuine desire to help the weary, the sick, the injured, and the disabled.”

Seteth talks a little more about the saintly woman before he goes on to read a passage from the holy book. The choir starts up and the church goers join in. Byleth can distinctly recognize Ferdinand’s voice from somewhere in the back, and he’s not a terrible singer, to her surprise. (She wonders idly if all this noise woke up Linhardt.)

When the choir is done, Rhea walks into the cathedral with serene grace, her steps soft and measured. She takes Seteth’s place at the front, looking the slightest bit surprised when she sees Byleth sitting near. A warm smile curves on her pink lips before she looks back to all the others.

Rhea speaks about the wishes of Saint Cethleann, and how the goddess bestowed upon her the blessing of unparalleled healing prowess. More passages are read, more hymns sung, and then small bowls are brought out. Flayn whispers to Byleth that they hold the individual parts of the Carassius.

“And the goddess does not only bless the people of Fódlan, but the animals as well,” Rhea says. “The magnificent Carassius is widely known to have aided Saint Cethleann when she had exhausted all of her medicinal ingredients. From this fish, she was able to cure an illness in a small town with only two dosages. And in her honor, we will bestow this medicine tonight to those who are also ailing.”

She’s handed a pestle and the first bowl. Rhea explains what each one holds and how that individual body part was used to cure not only the small illness, but other things such as the common cold or blistering.

When she’s done, the bowls are taken away by nuns to be turned into medicine before the end of the sermon. The archbishop preaches from another passage in the holy book, and then the choir starts up again. She leads them, her singing voice clear and crisp like the sun on a cold winter morning.

After the hymn, Rhea clasps her hands together in front of her. “Thank you for attending today’s special sermon,” she says to everyone. “May the goddess bless you all, and continue to bless the land of Fódlan.”

Seteth snuffs out the candelabras before the squires come to take them back. Rhea walks down the aisle with one of the nuns carrying the flag of Cethleann, the squires following behind her. Seteth addresses the crowd again. “Tonight’s menu in the dining hall is lavish with seafood and fish-based dishes. The sweetest of desserts will also be available in honor of Saint Cethleann. There is plenty to go around, so those who are not residents of the monastery may also obtain their fair portion.”

Everyone gets up after he officially ends the sermon. Some linger behind to chat with one another or Seteth himself, but most people flood out of the three doorways of the cathedral. Dimitri, Edelgard, and Flayn all invite Byleth to dine with them individually, but she declines.

“An offer I’d normally take from any of you three,” she explains, “but I want to check on my students and see who attended today.”

“Well thank you for sitting with me in tonight’s sermon, Professor,” says Flayn with a smile. “I very much appreciate the time we spent together. And though it was brief, I also enjoyed spending time with you two as well, Dimitri and Edelgard!”

Dimitri smiles at her, returning the same sentiment, and all Edelgard does is nod. Flayn skips over to Seteth, bouncing on her heels as she tugs him along, away from all the others, no doubt wanting to get to the dining hall as soon as possible.

When Byleth leaves the company of her remaining two companions, she spots her class chatting among themselves off toward the side. Upon seeing her, they wave her down.

“Professor,” starts Ignatz, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Flayn invited me, so I was sitting in the front row with her. I didn’t expect all of you to attend though.”

“Me either,” Hilda agrees, “but _someone_,” she looks to Lorenz, hands on her hips, “wouldn’t stop nagging until I did.”

“Nagging us all, actually,” Leonie corrects. “I was training when he kept insisting I go to the sermon.”

The rest of the class speaks up about their collective agreement. Lorenz scoffs. “I have done you all a favor. It is required that a class attends at least one of the saints’ days’ sermons.”

“Yeah, true,” Sylvain starts, “however, some of us were _kinda_ busy. And planned our day around the extra free time we got. Also,” he crosses his arms, “you should really learn to knock on doors, Lorenz. You’d think a noble such as yourself would have that bit of common sense.”

Clearing his throat, the boy’s face grows pink. “Yes, well, that was a foul error on my part. I had forgotten my manners in the haste of—”

“I’ll say. You walked in on me and the girl I was with when we were—”

“We don’t need details, Sylvain,” Lysithea snaps. Others give him harsh looks or roll their eyes, while Ashe mumbles his disappointment under his breath. “But now that we’re done, can we leave, Professor? I have much work to do.”

Everyone looks to her, some with frustration and others gazing in the direction of the dining hall, like Raphael. “I actually forgot that I was supposed to escort you all to one of the saints’ days. While I’m hearing that the methods weren’t very… smooth, it’s my fault for not remembering this part of my job. I’m sorry Lorenz,” she turns to him, “that you had to do it for me.”

He gives her a smile, shaking his head. “Put the worry out of your mind, Professor. I’m just doing my duty as a noble, guiding the others to be upstanding citizens.” Groans erupt from their little group, but he ignores them. “I want you to know that you can count on me should Claude fail in his duties as house leader—which he _has_. Not that I’m surprised. I could not find him anywhere, not even in his room.”

“Oh,” Ashe speaks up, “I was actually with him earlier in the greenhouse. He was talking with me about the different functions for some of the plants. But he left several minutes before Lorenz found me.”

“I’ll go look for him then,” Byleth says. “You all go have some dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry after that long sermon and talks about fish.”

“You’re not gonna come eat with us, Professor?” asks Raphael. He slumps his shoulders. “You’re gonna miss out on all the savory food and desserts!”

The class erupts into chatter about all the different kinds of meals on the menu tonight. Lysithea keeps mumbling about desserts, wanting to try all of them just to ‘test’ the quality. Meanwhile Sylvain muses about being in the mood for oysters, to which Hilda not-so-discreetly pinches his arm. He cries out and Leonie clicks her tongue, saying it’s what he deserves.

“Just save me a plate with a little bit of everything,” Byleth says. “Can you do that for me, Raphael? I’ll find you all later, but don’t feel the need to stay there longer than you want to.”

Grinning wide, he puffs out his chest. “You got it, Professor!”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth searches all the possible places Claude could be. The library staff haven’t seen him since noon, and he’s not in the reception hall playing chess with anyone either. The greenhouse is another fruitless effort, though she had hoped he’d at least be there.

Finding nowhere else he could be holed up, she walks to the second floor of the dorms. She’s never been up here before, being that her own quarters is on the ground floor with the commoners and lesser nobles. None of the rooms are marked. All the doors look the same too.

_Shoot. Which one is Claude’s room?_

With no students wandering around the hallways, she has to knock on all of the doors. The ones who don’t answer she moves on from, but a few students are just about to leave for dinner. She asks them if they know where Claude’s room is and they point her in its direction.

Knocking, she doesn’t get an answer at first. “Claude? It’s me, Byleth. Are you in there?”

“Teach?” comes his muffled voice from within. “Hold on sec—actually, you can come in if you want. Just close the door.”

She steps into his room, shutting the door softly. Sprawled around the floor are books; some closed, some open, some with little tabs of paper sticking out of them. There are more on the long counter underneath the window. Empty glass vials are clustered in wicker baskets and several scattered pages of notes lay upon the writing desk. The bed is barely made with the pillows and sheets askew. His uniform blazer is thrown haphazardly on it (she notices he’s wearing his usual yellow long-sleeved shirt). Situated on the windowsill are different potted plants. Some of the leaves, bulbs, and flowers are missing.

Claude has his back to her as he hovers over a small cauldron. Alongside it are different mortars and pestles, each one powered with crushed ingredients. Taking a ladle, he scoops up whatever is in the pot and pours it steadily into one of the small vials. “Aaand,” he sticks a cork cap on it, “done!”

“What are you doing?”

He wiggles the new filled vial between his fingers, dangling it in her view. “_Science_,” he replies with the slightest bit of mirth in his voice. But she can’t see anything and has to wonder if it’s filled with just air.

“But what is it?”

“A clear, odorless poison. Care to test it out for me, Teach?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

“Sure.”

He sputters, then starts to laugh. “Really?! I was just kidding! I’d never have you test these things out. Can’t do that to my Teach, after all. Poor behavior.”

“Then why ask in the first place?”

“Curiosity. But no worries, it’s not a lethal poison or anything. Take half of this, and in two days’ time, you’ll be, well… let’s say you better hope the nearest latrine isn’t occupied.” Before she can speak, he adds, “I hear your silent question: why the delay? That’s so the poison can take effect even when you don’t have access to the target. Pretty clever, right?”

When she stares at him he quickly says, “Uh, not that I have any immediate plans for this stuff, of course!” He gives her a nervous grin, stowing it away in a wooden box. More vials of the same size are organized neatly inside. All the liquids are of different colors, but a lot of them are clear. Each one also has a little tag wrapped around the neck of the glass.

Byleth walks closer to read them all. Things like ‘_Rash_’, ‘_Itch_’, ‘_Sleep_’, ‘_Nausea_’, and ‘_Bowels_’ is written onto each one. Though some are marked as the same, their colors are different. Claude wraps a tag that says ‘_Bowels_’ around his newest vial.

“No immediate plans, huh?”

“Yup.” He shuts the box with a snap, locking it with a small key. “Consider them options. When devising schemes, you gotta have more than one approach. Otherwise, there’s more room for failure.”

Claude stows away the box in a bottom cabinet of the counter. As he’s snuffing out the small fire (contained in a metal bowl underneath the cauldron) and cleaning up the rest of his workstation, Byleth asks, “Why such a dangerous hobby?”

“A necessity from my youth,” he replies, not looking at her. “But not to worry, Teach. I’ve got the cures for all of these too; would be irresponsible of me not to do so.” Larger, empty glass vials he procures from one of the baskets, carefully scraping the powder from the mortars into them with brushes. She notes that he uses a different brush for each one, maybe so as not to mix them up. The remaining liquid inside the cauldron is poured into a bigger vial which he corks and hides away in a small drawer.

A necessity from his youth. She doesn’t want to pry, especially when he doesn’t offer much more than that. Maybe he’s not ready to share. “Can I help you clean up?”

“Nah, I’m almost done. Besides, it takes a careful hand to deal with these things.” He corks all of the filled vials and places them in a different box. This box is bigger and taller, resting in a corner on the wooden counter. It has multiple compartments, reminding her of a mini medicine cabinet. Each drawer is labeled with a symbol instead of words.

“Though most of this stuff doesn’t work without being mixed,” Claude clarifies, covering the box completely with a brown-colored fabric sheet, “a few will still enact their effect, even in this raw state. You don’t want a rash, do you?” The nearby books he closes and stacks around the now dubious cubed object to make it look inconspicuous.

“Can’t say they’re fun.”

He hums, a breath below a laugh. “They sure aren’t. Speaking from _many_ personal experiences.” Turning around, he leans against the counter, smiling as usual. “So, what brings you here to my humble little abode?”

“You didn’t attend the sermon for Saint Cethleann tonight.”

“Ah, shoot. That was today, wasn’t it?” but his light tone and the way he tilts his head betrays the front of forgetfulness.

“It’s fine. I had forgotten I’m supposed to take my class to one of the saints’ day services, minimum. But Lorenz rounded up everyone,” to which Claude mumbles under his breath, ‘of course he did’, “and said he couldn’t find you.”

“Well, I’m not in the business of being available at the drop of a hat, like he expects our class to be. Kinda rude, don’t you think? Especially since everyone had plans for their half-day. Did they grumble and bemoan his insistence?” When she nods, he shakes his head. “Thought so.”

He stares at her as she just stands in the middle of the room. “You can take a seat if you’d like. If you’re planning to hang out here for a while, that is.”

Byleth looks around, finding the only chair in the room covered with books. She opts for an empty spot on his messily made bed, hands on either side of her. Grinning, he crosses his arms. His eyebrow is doing that thing again where it quirks in an arch, foretelling a smartass remark.

“It’s not every day I have a girl in my bed. How _scandalous_, Teach!”

She blinks at him. “I have a feeling you’ve never once had a girl in your bed, Claude. And considering the state of this room, you won’t ever get one in here either.”

“_Ouch,_” he hisses, taking a spot beside her on the bed. “You really know how to cut through the bone, don’t you? But even if I did get a girl in here, it wouldn’t be a fun time. Not with Lorenz next door.”

“Careful; you’re starting to sound like Sylvain. Lorenz actually caught him in the middle of an amorous rendezvous in his room with a girl earlier when he was rounding up the class.”

Claude laughs, sitting back as his palms support his weight behind him. “Serves him right. I can imagine his beet-red face, clear as day. And the lecture he probably gave Sylvain when he was done being embarrassed. Guy needs to lighten up and realize, _shockingly_, that teenagers are horny—including those of the nobility. And that’s natural. Though Sylvain’s a whole different tier, if I’m being honest.”

She hums, rocking her legs back and forth where they hang off the bed. His bed is higher than hers; she supposes nobles get better furniture than the people who dorm down below. “Did you not go to the sermon so you could have the greenhouse to yourself?” she asks.

“Well, Ashe had very many interesting things to say about all the plants in there. I wanted to observe them for myself.”

“And not nab some of the leaves and flowers from there?” because that’s what she would’ve done if she needed to.

“Perish the thought, Teach! I would never steal from the church’s greenhouse; sometimes seeds are just scattered wherever, like, unplanted on the soil, left on the ground, ooor leaves and petals are about to fall off from the plant anyway.”

“I don’t care if you swipe a few plants. Guessing you wanted to see which ones would expand your poison collection.”

Claude grows quiet beside her, staring ahead at the opposite wall. She didn’t mean to accuse him of stealing—but is it really if he just admitted it? She hopes he doesn’t get in trouble. The greenhouse keeper has meticulous records of all the plants in there, so she’d know if something was missing or suspiciously damaged, like if a part of a plant had been plucked.

“Y’know, there are certain poisons I’ve never tried to brew,” he starts. “Ones that cause internal bleeding, or cardiac arrest, some that induce organ failure, among other things.”

How many different kinds of poisons are there, exactly? And how many has he made in his lifetime? “Other things like what?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it lethal. Definitely not like a poison that would create seizures. But I’d still consider it a ‘poison’ since it has no use for healing, and can cause some level of harm. Guess to some it wouldn’t be considered as such, though. The recipe is out there, I’m sure.” He gives a shrug. “But one must be desperate to brew something like an aphrodisiac. Don’t really see a practical use for it, if I’m being honest. Waste of materials.”

“Oh.” She looks down at her knees before focusing on him again. “Well if you need a test subject, I guess I can volunteer since you said it’s not lethal. You’d have the antidote, after all.”

Claude actually looks surprised this time, eyes wide before he asks, “You… _do_ know what that is, right Teach?”

“I’ve heard the term before, but no.”

“Then thank the stars _I’m_ here to inform you of its effects. And it’s not something I’d ever ask you to test. Or ask anyone, actually. A good scientist always tests out their experiments on themselves first. Although, I wouldn’t be able to leave this room for an indiscernible amount of time if that happened,” he says, clearing his throat.

For whatever reason, he gets up to clear some books off the floor. Byleth watches him with curiosity. “And why’s that? Would you be sick?”

He gives a single, nervous chuckle. “That’s one way to put it. The supposed components for an aphrodisiac can be found in oysters, or even certain cocoa beans, and other edible ingredients. Or uh, so I’ve heard, anyway. I’m pretty sure all of those are actually just placebos.”

“And what does it do?”

“In layman’s terms, you’d be like Sylvain: horny. Very, very much so, depending on its potency. Even to the point where it’s painful.”

Oh, so that’s why the redhead had commented earlier about the oysters. He truly is a shameless man.

“So then how would you make an antidote for that?” she asks out of genuine curiosity. If it’s not a lethal poison, then its antidote must not be difficult to make.

“Good question, Teach. And an answer you’re probably better off not knowing.” Well, that’s not fair. She really wanted to know. He closes a few of the books, organizing them into three different piles.

_The tips of his ears are red. Odd._

“A-Anyway,” he pushes the books against the wall and the counter, “the only reason I brought any of this up is because I want you to know there’re limits to what I’ll concoct for schemes. Before anyone else starts to say otherwise about my little hobby—which they will if they ever find out. Poisons like that have no place in my plans, past, present, or future. And anyone who does use one of those, is a person you should stay away from. Especially that last one.”

Claude stands back up with a pile of papers, setting them on the wooden counter. “It’s just something I’ve come across during my research. No recipe thus far, though it’s been theorized in various ways. Why? Your guess is as good as mine.”

Next he goes to his desk where quills are spilled about. He puts one back in its inkwell and stores the others in a drawer. “But that’s a line I’d never cross, and people who would, well, there’s no other word to call them except despicable.”

“I didn’t think anything negative when you told me making poisons is your hobby,” she assures. “I just wanted to know why you’d take such risks, knowing they can harm you too as you’re making them.”

He grows quiet, not answering her for a few minutes. Instead she watches him stack books on top of the counter against the windowsill, organized by size. How many of them are his, and how many of them belong to the library, she can only guess. Aside from the plants, overabundance of books, notebooks, and parchments scribbled with notes on seemingly anything and everything, the only other adornment in his room is the bow he uses. It’s hung up on the wall, the quiver of arrows standing against a corner.

Claude turns the chair around to face her, and sits down. He leans against the backrest, arms behind his head. “I grew up in an environment where being adaptable was pretty much required,” he starts. Staring at the ceiling, he takes a moment before speaking again. “Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been seen as… different, from those around me. An outsider of sorts. I’ve been resented and hated. To the point where there have been several attempts on my life.”

A rare frown mars his face. “I don’t believe I did anything to deserve such treatment, but that’s how it goes for people like me.”

“I don’t think of you as an outsider,” comforts Byleth. This must be one of his many secrets and mysteries he prefers to keep to himself. She’s finally getting a little more out of him, and she doesn’t want to say anything that’ll make him feel like he can’t confide in her.

She’s his partner, and she’s more than willing to offer a shoulder.

The frown recedes into a slight smile. Claude finally meets her eyes, tilting his head back down. “Thanks, Teach. Y’know, at the end of the day, I’m just like anyone else: normal. But depending on the environment, I guess anyone can be seen as ‘abnormal’. That’s why a lot of my childhood was chaotic. At some point, it became…,” he looks down at his lap, brow furrowing, “overwhelming. So I chose to keep running, to keep fighting.”

Crossing his arms, he looks off to the side, again avoiding her gaze. “As a kid, I spent a lot of time licking my wounds. Came up with schemes, tried not to stick my nose in business that didn’t concern me. Plotted against my enemies.” Enemies? How old was he when this had happened? “Though they were supportive for the most part, my parents always told me I needed to fight my own battles instead of running away. Or feeling sorry for myself. And so in the end,” he shrugs a shoulder, “I did.”

He smiles, but not at her. At some distant memory, that the longer he stays silent, the smaller that smile gets. “I became as independent and self-reliant as can be. Just like my parents always wanted.”

Voice growing soft, the weak smile appears again as he casts his focus to the floor. “Lucky me, right?”

She’s not sure what to say. Once again he minimized as many details as possible. But it’s progress. Not too much that she has a whole itinerary of his life, but enough that explains why he almost forced himself to be as clever as he is. Being a noble, with luxuries she can only imagine, must also have just as hefty of a price for it.

Did her other students also grow up this way?

“You’ve been through a lot, Claude.”

Looking at her again, his smile isn’t as frail. “And that’s exactly why we’re partners. If anyone knows what I’m talking about, it’s probably you. Eh, Teach? I get the feeling you know what it’s like to be seen as ‘different’. The first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew in my gut you weren’t like everyone else.”

Byleth nods, lifting her legs up to crisscross them on the bed. “That’s fair. Emotionless face, blank stare, my eerie quietness. I’m surprised more people aren’t unnerved by me.”

“Makes sense. To others, I mean. People don’t care about folks like that. Like us. You’d do well to watch your back,” he warns.

Then his smile grows wider, almost like the one he usually wears. “On the bright side,” he leans forward, arms resting on his knees as he folds his hands together, “that’s also part of why I find you so interesting.”

“Because I’m creepy?”

He shakes his head, a light laugh escaping him. “Creepy isn’t the word I’d use. That’s not how I see you, either. Intriguing, is more accurate. And honestly, Teach, I really don’t think this far into the school year that people find you creepy. Maybe a little intimidating because of your strength, but when people stare at you—or ogle you, actually, it’s not because they think you’re weird.”

“Then why would they stare at me?”

Claude rises from his seat, stretching. “Now that’s another conversation for another day. And one I probably shouldn’t talk about with you behind closed doors—_my_ closed doors. People love to gossip around here, after all.”

Going to said door, he opens it, gesturing to the hallway. “Well, all of this quality time together as professor and house leader has earned us some dinner. What do you think, Teach? I heard there’s shrimp skewers with veggies. Sounds mouth-watering.”

“Oh, dinner. Right. I forgot.” She had been so engrossed in listening to him finally opening up a little more, that she had completely forgotten why she came in here in the first place. Her food is probably cold now. (Or maybe Raphael couldn’t help himself and accidentally ate it for her.) Byleth rises from her spot on his bed and walks outside of his room.

“Remind me to pick up a piece of cake afterward,” she tells him.

“Why?”

“Every day after dinner, I bring Bernadetta a slice of cake, or some other pastry.”

He locks the door, then stows away the key in his pocket. “Trying to bribe her to join our class, are you?”

“Not ‘bribe’. But I just feel bad she’s such a recluse. I want her to feel comfortable around me. And, on the off chance she decides to join our class, I’m not going to say no.”

She hopes it’s helping. The timid girl is speaking a little more often now whenever Byleth stands outside her door. They’ll usually have a conversation that way until Bernadetta finishes her dessert. Then Byleth will wish her a good day and leave. Just last week she learned Bernadetta loves carnivorous plants; appealing to her since they just stand around with their mouths open and food comes to them without ever having to leave their spot. A nice, if a bit surprising, fun fact about the girl she would’ve never known otherwise.

“Then get her the biggest, fluffiest slice of cake you can find,” he suggests. “I’ll keep a lookout too.” She thanks him, and then he says, “You should think about asking Petra to join our class. Feel like she’d fit right in. Thoughts?”

Well, the princess did enjoy her time training with them that day. And everyone already seems to like her. Petra is a very attentive and earnest student, so she wouldn’t be difficult to instruct. But would it really be okay for a Brigid royal to join the Golden Deer? Actually, why is someone of the Brigid nobility even attending the Officers Academy at Garreg Mach? Isn’t it far from her homeland?

“I’ll definitely think about it. I don’t want anyone to feel like I’m trying to get them to join my class, but I would be content if they did. Helps me know I’m doing something right.”

Claude sighs. “Like I said before, you’re worrying too much over something that isn’t as bad as you think it is. But definitely consider it. I think Petra would be happy if you did.”

“Okay, I will.” While Petra joining their class sounds nice, the complexities of such a move is something she doesn’t want to think about right now. “Since they’re serving seafood tonight,” she’s getting hungrier by the minute, “I hope they have fried crayfish. Or small fish skewers.”

“Whaaat? Teach, nobody likes those. Not even Raphael or Ingrid, and that’s saying _a lot_. Why do you think those items are always leftover whenever they’re on the menu?”

“_I_ like them. Isn’t that enough?”

He gives a single laugh. “First you’re insistent on having soup whenever possible, even when it’s scorching outside. Now you’re gonna be the only customer for the foods nobody wants.”

“If people gave them a chance, I’m sure they’d like them. And if they don’t, then more for me. I won’t complain.”

That makes him pause, glancing at her with the slightest hint of surprise on his face. It’s soon replaced by a wide smile. Claude shakes his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He makes idle chatter about the kind of seafood he used to cook back in Derdriu. Fish and shrimp is what he had started with, but then he learned to cook more difficult things like crabs and lobster. Usually he cooks them with some kind of side dish (if it’s not already combined with pasta or a similar addition). If he makes something like seafood soup instead, he’ll usually pair it with a type of bread.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Byleth says. “Or baked, even.”

“Oh, definitely. And believe it or not, I’m actually pretty good at it. One day, I’ll cook you up something nice so you can try it. Catch any kind of fish or crustacean for me, and I’ll make you a meal. Sound good?”

“Deal. But just not crayfish or tiny fish, right?”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he laughs.

A few students lingering out in the hallway eye them as they walk to the staircase, probably wondering why they exited his room alone. She doesn’t know what’s going through their heads, and doesn’t care to know. What they think doesn’t matter, in the end.

Claude being comfortable enough to start trusting her with little bits of his puzzling past is all she’s going to take away from this day. Much like his cabinet of powdered ingredients, she’ll stow away the pieces behind a lock, with she and her clever companion being the only ones with access to the singular key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really sure if I should've included Claude's B-support this early. I mean, they're already in the Blue Sea Moon (July), and this felt like a good place to put it. But, I still had my doubts. I also don't know if it's locked until you reach a certain point in the story. I say this because his B+ support you can only unlock during Chapter 10 and onward. (Y'know, after The Bad Thing happens in Chapter 9.) What do you folks think?
> 
> Still cannot believe Claude straight-up snatched a fancy cheese from the dining hall in like, Chapter 1 of the game. LOL He is a little shit pre-timeskip, after all. But I figure he'd only steal small things that wouldn't be missed (like plants, and cheese).
> 
> In that same chapter, he makes a comment about Byleth having yet to try his "world renowned home cooking", so I'm _assuming_ he knows how to make food. Or he's just exaggerating his skills. Lol Although I do have a headcanon as to why he might've learned how to cook, and that'll get brought up later in the story.
> 
> Man, it's only been the first week of school, and I'm already super exhausted. Feeling like a banana slug right now, ngl.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	19. XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth observes the special sermon for Saint Cethleann Day with Flayn, Edelgard, and Dimitri. She then meets up with her students after it's over and finds that Lorenz rounded them all up for this church service, much to their annoyance. He makes a comment about Claude being unreliable as house leader since he couldn't find him anywhere, so Byleth goes to look for him. She finds him in his room and learns he has a dangerous hobby of brewing mild poisons. They're meant to be more of a bother, not anything lethal. Claude tells her he does, in fact, have a line he won't cross when it comes to his schemes, and creating lethal poisons is one of them. It's then he tells Byleth a little bit about his past. Still very vague, but she learns his awful childhood was the basis for this poison hobby of his out of self-defense. While she may not know any specific details of how he grew up, this little bit of trust he's finally given her is one she'll keep stowed away under lock and key.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XIX ⧽  
  
To-Do List

** _22nd of the Blue Sea Moon, 1180 _**━

One of the things Claude can’t say he enjoys is the weekly assignments of chores. Every professor gets a list of chores for their class, courtesy of Seteth. He hands them out during the weekly faculty meetings. Or at least, that’s what Byleth had said.

“For this week,” she starts, writing up all the chores on the chalkboard, “here is where each of you will be stationed. Keep in mind these decisions aren’t entirely up to me, but I can change them if they’re really that bad.”

Most of the chores are the same from last week: picking weeds around the monastery, horse care, feeding the wyverns, washing the dishes in the dining hall, organizing returned books in the library, and so on. Some are new, however, like cleaning the training weapons or procuring food supplies for the dining hall.

Claude looks for his name up on the board as Byleth is writing. Some people groan at what they’re assigned—mainly Hilda who doesn’t like the idea of shoveling horse shit out of the stables. “Professor, I just got a mani-pedi yesterday! Look how cute!” She holds her hand out, wiggling her fingers. From this far, Claude can’t really see what’s on them, but he thinks she might’ve put something sparkly on that coat of rose pink. “It’d be a shame to let all of my intricate design work go to waste….”

“You’re not gonna be picking up the manure with your hands, Hilda,” Byleth replies without turning around.

“Oh I know that, but, what if I break or scratch my nail while using the shovel?”

Ashe—the poor, unfortunate soul—who’s assigned with her speaks up, saying he’ll do a good chunk of the shoveling. Hilda gives him a sweet smile, lightly touches his arm and calls him a ‘darling’ and that it’d be _such_ a huge help to her, but she wouldn’t _dream_ of making him do all the work. Ashe insists, pointing out that her nails do look nice, and just this once he won’t mind handling the bulk of the task.

Either Byleth doesn’t hear, or doesn’t care that Hilda is at it again trying to pawn off her work on some innocent bystander who’s easily swayed by her fluttering eyelashes. He can only hope she’ll go easy on him since Lonato’s passing is still pretty recent.

_Maybe I should warn him._

When Claude sees he gets dish duty today, it’s his turn to bite back a groan. He also has horse care on Thursday, and honestly he’d rather shovel a pound of shit. At least the horses are straightforward and not nit-picky like the kitchen staff.

“Teach, can I be assigned something else? Like, putting books away in the library?”

“I would Claude, but Lysithea asked me last week if she could do it, and Ignatz is already assigned there.” Byleth sets the chalk down, having listed everyone’s names next to a pair of chores. “Besides, there’s a lot of people from other classes who already have that assignment. The library doesn’t need that much help.”

Byleth doesn’t leave much room for arguments as she wants to continue on with the lecture before the academic day ends. She reminds the class that if people want specific chores, they need to tell her ahead of time so she can rearrange everyone’s placements.

And so after dinner, Claude goes to the kitchen with a bunch of other students to help wash up. The guy who was supposed to be joining him is sick, and Claude suggested he just go back to his dorm and rest up. No need to get other people sick either, especially with the dinnerware.

He’s given a stack of dirtied plates. Some still have the bones from the meat, and several of them contain more than enough leftover vegetables to feed an entire colony of rabbits. “Wasted food,” he mumbles, sliding them all off the plate and into the trash box. (It’s probably going to be added to the pigs’ troughs at the monastery’s farm lower on the mountain.)

Lathering the dish rag with soap, he begins to scrub at the dried food, only for the dish to slip out of his hand and crack when it hits the side of the sink. The water splashes on him and he sighs. Setting that dish aside, he tries again, this time with a tea cup. Holding it is a little easier since it has a handle.

“Wow this stain won’t come off.” He rubs at the edge of the cup’s lip with the rag. “What was this person drinking? Paint? It’s really stub—ah crap.”

The cup slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor. “Sorry, sorry!” he calls when the kitchen staff glare at him. “Didn’t mean to. I’ll just… sweep it up.”

He sets aside the broken porcelain pieces with a broom and goes back to his stack of plates. Managing to get at least three cleaned, his streak is broken when another plate slips out of his hand as he’s trying to dry it. Claude manages to snatch it in the air before it lands on the floor, but only gets himself wet with the dirty water in the basin as his elbow splashes the surface and onto his clothes again.

“Is the water supposed to be this cold?!” he exclaims, jumping back, and _that_ makes him crash into the stack of dishes on his left. Half of them tumble onto the floor. He winces, gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut as he hears every last dish clatter and break on the stone floor.

“What are you doing?!” one of the chefs says, rushing over to him. Other students are staring at him now. Some giggling behind their hands, others snickering over shoulders. Then a few are whispering, trying to discreetly nod his way.

“Sorry!” he apologizes, starting to sweep up the porcelain pieces. “I didn’t mean to make a mess or break things! An accident. I’ll clean it up, okay?”

With a frustrated huff, the woman shoos him away. “Go. You’re done here.”

“But there’s still a lot of—”

“_Leave_, so we may clean up this mess ourselves. You always break _something_ when you’re assigned here. Tell the professor that you’re not to be given dish duty again.”

Normally he’d jump at the chance to get away from chores. But he knows they’ll just deduct these losses from Byleth’s funds for the class. Normally, she doesn’t even blink when such a thing happens. But _normally_, he only shatters one or two dishes. Today it’s more like… 15. And those funds are also part of her paycheck.

_I have to make up that money somehow. But first, gotta change out of these clothes._

He walks out of the kitchen, flicking his arms to dry them. He spots Leonie walking in with a crate full of vegetables. Some of the stalks peek out from the top or hang off to the side. She hands it over to one of the kitchen staff and goes back out before retrieving a different crate, this time filled with a wide selection of fruit. They thank her with a smile, and she tells them not to worry about it.

Spotting Claude, she walks over, looking both curious and concerned. “Woah, what happened to you?”

“The dishes happened to me,” he replies, picking off a stray piece of soggy eggplant from his blazer. “This is why I told Teach I just can’t be here. I’m a huge butterfingers with dishes, no matter how hard I try to be careful.”

“But didn’t you have someone to help you?” she asks, flicking off rebellious globs of wet food from his clothes. “This is why we’re given chores in pairs.”

“Nah, the guy was sick, and the last thing we need is to get other people sick while trying to clean stuff that goes in your mouth. Did both our share of the dishes myself, and well,” he gestures to his body as he stands there, cold and wet, “you can see how it turned out. The kitchen lady got so mad at how many plates I broke. I tried to tell her I’d help clean up the mess and finish washing the rest, but her glare kinda chased me out. I could really use a nap right about now….”

Leonie chuckles, crossing her arms. “For a noble with a fancy bloodline, you sure don’t act like it.”

Ah, and there it is again. “Being a noble or a commoner doesn’t have anything to do with washing dishes….” All he’s doing is being himself. Maybe he’s not really cut out for the aristocracy. (Then again, he could use that to his advantage in the future.)

“I dunno,” she shrugs. “I can imagine many nobles would make an argument on why they shouldn’t do the chores, or just straight-up refuse to do them at all.”

“That might be true for some, but can you really imagine anyone saying no to Teach? Even if they’re the highest ranking noble in all the land?”

“Fair. Though it is kinda weird people seem to do whatever she says. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a noble refuse her requests. Not in the way they do with other professors and faculty.”

“She just has that kind of energy. The kind where you feel bad rejecting something she asks of you, even if she doesn’t mind you did.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still, I like that you do things this way. You don’t act like you’re better than everyone else.”

It sounds a lot like what Byleth had told him before. He can’t exactly blame them either. Some of the nobles around here really need to stuff it. Claude smiles, trying to rub off some weird, green stain from his jacket. “Thanks for acknowledging my greatness, Leonie. And I like your very blunt way of speaking. It’s refreshing. Kinda get tired of all the flowery ass-kissing I may or may not see from others.”

She gives a single laugh, nodding. “Well thanks for that, Claude. Honestly, I dunno if I’d trust my own judgement on people though. I’d like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt; believe that there’s good in everyone, but that’s not entirely realistic. I mean, you seem like a good person, but your heart could be black for all I know.”

“Y’know you say that,” Claude takes off his jacket, deciding its better if he doesn’t smell like soggy meat and greens, especially in this summer heat, “but I think you’re more aware than you believe. What you said is pretty true: you can’t trust people based on looks alone.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Though, I dunno if I should be taking advice from a guy covered in dish suds and moist leftovers.”

He laughs, folding his jacket in his arms. “I see your point. Gotta remember to tell Teach about any future chores of mine. The kitchen lady doesn’t ever want me back there. And I can’t say Teach will be too happy either.”

Leonie holds out her hand to him. “Here, gimme that. I’ll wash it for you.”

“No no, it’s okay. I’m a big boy, Leonie. I know how to do my own laundry.”

“I insist,” she says lightly. “I know how to get those stains out. I was gonna wash some stuff in a bit anyway.”

Well, he can’t say no if she’s offering. Claude hands it over, and Leonie scrunches her nose at all the specks of mushed food on it as she unfolds the garment. “Geez, some people really need to clean their plates better.”

“Yeah, lots of food was leftover, which I had to wipe down into the garbage. But hey, at least the pigs will be happy.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” She’s careful to fold it back in place to not get herself dirty. “But why did you say the professor wouldn’t be happy about you being kicked out?”

He explains what the kitchen lady told him, and what he’s observed every time Byleth needs to buy supplies. The weeks where her budget is smaller are the same weeks where he fucked up the dishes again, or some other student caused a financial blunder in the chores. It’s why when she goes shopping, she opts to take Ashe, Leonie, or Ignatz with her since they’re the best when it comes to handling money.

Upon hearing this, Leonie furrows her brow. “Is that really why? I didn’t know they cut her own paycheck for that.”

“Class funds is more like it, but they’re one in the same. She’s responsible for us, so I guess they see she’s the one to foot the bill for any consequence we cause.” He frowns, sighing. “That’s why I feel lousy. I broke a lot—and I mean, _a lot_—of dishes today. I wanna make it up to her, but we can’t take jobs here at the monastery. Was thinking of looking for one in the town.”

“Can’t you just pay her back with the allowance your grandfather gives you?” Leonie suggests. “I don’t know about your financial situation, but he has to have decent money if he’s duke of the Alliance.”

“My ol’ grandpappy thinks I ought to earn my share of the family fortune, so it’s not as easy for me to just ask for an advance on my inheritance, as it would be for say, someone like Lorenz, or Ferdinand.”

That, and he’s sure Duke Riegan is still a little bitter about his only daughter eloping with plans to never return, only for her son to take her place at the lonely family dinner table. While his grandfather has never said it, he can guess he’s not too happy Claude is half-Almyran either. But these are just assumptions, ones Claude doesn’t need confirmations of. His grandfather did claim him as a legitimate heir, after all—even wrote him into his will, and didn’t treat him horribly during his stay at the Riegan estate.

Although whether that’s because Claude is all that Duke Riegan has left of his daughter, or because he doesn’t trust the future of the Leicester Alliance with another noble house, he can’t be sure. And he’s not going to complain, either.

“Oh wow,” Leonie shakes her head, “that’s certainly… different. Then if you’re gonna take a job, I’d say go for it. Although I doubt anyone would want to offer a noble to do manual labor for them.”

“Now who said anything about me being a noble? Claude von Riegan? Don’t know him. My name’s Charlie Rigby, and anyone who says otherwise must be mistaken.”

She laughs, giving him an incredulous look with a smile. “Charlie? That’s the best name you could come up with?”

“Sounds less suspicious than ‘Bartholomew’.”

“You’re really something else, Claude.”

He shakes his head, tutting as he wags his finger. “Charlie.”

“Sorry, _Charlie_,” she corrects with a chuckle.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth isn’t at all surprised when the kitchen head meets with her after class on Wednesday. Every professor gets a progress report of how their students did during their weekly chores. But she is surprised to see it happen in the middle of the week, and even more surprised to see a compensation note attached to it.

“He broke how many dishes?” she asks, reading it over.

“One too many,” the woman replies. “Professor, I know Seteth likes to encourage students to practice what they’re not good at, but you need to reason with him that some just aren’t cut out for certain tasks. We shouldn’t have to keep buying new dishes. Now we’re down about 18 of them and won’t get new ones until next Monday. Or at least, keep Lord Claude out of the kitchen.”

With a frustrated sigh, the woman adds, “I’m sorry to have to do this to you as well. But I will need the money for the losses. I’ve already ordered everything, and you won’t be responsible for any damages that happen to the package in transit.”

“Yes, I understand. Oh.” She sets down the reports on her desk, taking out a piece of parchment from her ledger. “While you’re here, I wanted to ask. Does the dining hall have any valuables? Things that could be worth stealing in case of a robbery?”

She gets an odd look from the kitchen head. “Why such a specific question?”

Careful not to give too much of it away, Byleth explains that with the Rite of Rebirth happening in two days, more people will be here at the monastery. And while she’d like to think visitors would behave themselves in such a place, she can’t rule out the possibility others will use it for nefarious matters.

“Ah, I see. The dining ware we use is very common for obvious reasons.” Wow, she’s really upset about those broken dishes. “We don’t really keep anything expensive in the kitchens. Unless you count the aged wine and our finer cuts of food like the prime meats and cheeses. Maybe some rarer fruits and vegetables. Those might fetch a fair price to the right customer.”

“That makes sense,” Byleth says, writing down her findings on the paper. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ll make sure no suspicious individuals try to get past the kitchen doors. I refuse to have my dining hall desecrated like a gutted fish.”

The woman leaves, telling her the money is owed by the end of the week. It’s about a quarter of her class funds, which means she’ll only get paid one-quarter for her own work as an instructor this month. Maybe she should’ve listened to Claude when he said to not assign him kitchen duty. She’s used to him breaking one or two things. But nearly 20? He must’ve been having a bad day.

_Maybe I should talk to him. Ask if everything’s alright._

She also needs to find him to share her discovery notes. Byleth had gone around the monastery the entire month, asking around the different facilities of potential valuables. She got a mixed bag of answers, like the kitchen lady just now. But some were more plausible: the greenhouse having rare plants that could cure or kill, the monastery’s gold and treasure vault, or the stables that house elite breeds of horses, pegasi, and wyverns specifically bred for the Knights of Seiros.

But the one that seemed the most suspicious was what she had found in the cathedral some days ago. In the room opposite of the saint statues.

“What’s in here?” she had asked the knight standing guard.

The woman looked up at the large doors, her grip tight on the sword hilt at her hip. “This is the Holy Mausoleum, Professor. There’s nothing but a large casket down there. It’s said to host the body of Saint Seiros. Nobody is allowed to open it—not even Seteth or Lady Rhea, and the chamber itself is open only once a year to the public during the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth.”

“And what takes place during this time?”

“Well,” the knight leaned her weight on one leg, “Her Grace gives a quick sermon down there, but only a set number of people are allowed. When she’s finished, the chamber remains open for the rest of the hour, but any visitors are highly supervised by the knights, and there’s a cut off of how many can occupy the room. If you missed your chance to see the casket, then you’ll have to wait until the following year.”

“That’s a lot of security.”

“There has to be! It’s the body of a saint, after all. The casket might as well be a reliquary.”

Byleth had thanked the knight for her time, and added the findings to her notes.

It’s the most likely place the mystery assailants are targeting. Rhea’s life is understandably of the utmost importance. And heavy metal doors with a lock that has only one way in or out of a chamber, nobody would think twice about something already heavily fortified.

But that’s probably the whole point.

She doesn’t want to inform Seteth yet without letting Claude know of her discovery. The rite is in two days, and if her class is to guard the Holy Mausoleum, then she needs to give a head’s up about the situation.

First, she has to find her elusive student.

He could be anywhere; the library, the greenhouse, his own room, but it’s nearing dinner time, so she figures she can just wait for him to show up at the dining hall.

Byleth keeps an eye out as she stands in the line getting her fair share of the dinner. Today the special is the fisherman’s bounty. The smell of fish and other aquatic edible creatures cooked in herbs and butter has her mouth watering. But the complaint from two people down has her spare the drool from leaving her lips.

“Fish _again_?” comes Dorothea’s voice. She makes a disgusted sound, scrunching her nose up as others before her get their plates. “Excuse me,” she waves to one of the kitchen staff, “would there happen to be anything else on the menu today?”

“Got a lot of fish in the kitchen this month, Miss,” the woman replies. “We need to use most of it up so it doesn’t go bad. But today we also have the country-style red turnip plate or the Garreg Mach meat pie.”

“I’ll take the meat pie, thank you.”

As she takes her tray with her, she stops walking when she notices Byleth in the line. “Professor! Hello! Eating alone today?”

Byleth thanks the woman for her fish dinner, taking a quick whiff of it. It smells delicious, and she can’t wait to pull every last piece of tender meat from the bones. “Actually, I was looking for Claude, but so far I don’t see him. He’s usually one of the first people here.”

“In that case, would you want to join me and Petra meanwhile? She’s saving us a seat over there. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Okay.”

Dorothea escorts her to where Petra is keeping a sharp eye on the vacant seats around her. Some students ask if they’re taken, to which she says yes but points them in the direction of other seats further away in a back table. When she spots Byleth with Dorothea, she stands.

“I have saved the seats, Dorothea,” she says. “And hello, Professor. Are you going to be joining us?”

“She is, actually,” replies the young songstress, setting her plate down next to Petra’s. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I am not minding! In fact, this timing is good. I am having a question that I would like to be asking the professor.”

Petra sits as Byleth takes the space across from them. Dorothea mentions something about the reeking smell of fish, to which Petra replies it’s delicious, but apologizes for the stench since she’s aware Dorothea doesn’t like it.

“You don’t like fish?” asks Byleth.

“Ugh, no, I don’t.” Dorothea pokes the fork into the pie, letting the flaky breading sink into the mixture of meat chunks and vegetables. “Fish and seafood have all kinds of weird textures that give me the creeps. Chewy, like octopus and squid. Slimy, like oysters. And then fish just comes apart so easily that it feels… grainy, or… well I don’t know how to describe it. Like it’s melting in your mouth, but in a bad way. And then some of it just has an aftertaste of seawater!”

She shudders, making a low groan in her throat before blowing on her forkful of pie and slipping it into her mouth. “This is much, _much_ more palatable.”

“I love fish,” Petra says, taking her own bite of the meal. “In Brigid, many of our cuisine is seafood. We do have some meat ones though.” She frowns, looking down at her dinner plate. “I am afraid if you were to visit, you would probably not be liking our meals there, Dorothea….”

“Oh, no no! I’m sure I’d still love it, Petra!” She gently pats her hand. “I do love the ocean. It’s so beautiful, and, well, maybe in time I’d like… er, some seafood. Shrimp… I guess… doesn’t sound too bad?”

“I like everything,” Byleth comments, taking a large mouthful of the fish. It’s true that it melts on her tongue, but not in the way Dorothea describes. The lemon and herbs mix with the meat, and she can’t help but hum as she swallows. “But I love soup the most. Fish soup, chicken soup, vegetable soup, tomato soup—all of it is good to me.”

Dorothea chuckles. “You’re so precious, Professor. But yes, I’d much rather have a bowl of broth. Have you tried the monastery’s onion gratin soup? It’s to die for!”

“I have, actually. And it’s very good. Now I want some.”

She gets a fond smile from Dorothea, who tells her how cute she is (is she really?) and Petra beams at them both. She comments that while soup isn’t her favorite, she wouldn’t mind eating it if it had fish or shrimp in it. It’s then Byleth remembers the girl had wanted to ask her a question, and so brings it up.

“Oh, my question? Ah, yes.” Petra takes another bite of her dinner before she says, “I enjoyed very much when you allowed me to train with your class on the horse riding. And everyone was very nice! You are a good instructor, and I am liking the pace you are taking. So, I have been wanting to tell you that I would like to join your class. Professor Manuela has already given me permission.”

Byleth wonders if there are ramifications for the princess of Brigid to be switching houses. Then again, she doesn’t know why she was in the Black Eagles house to begin with. Maybe because Adrestia is closer? Petra’s a smart girl, so she probably went through all kind of confirmations it’d be okay to transfer.

“I’d love to have you in my class, Petra,” Byleth replies. Her chest feels as warm as a bowl of soup when Petra’s smile spreads wide across her lips. “We can fill out the transfer form together after dinner. How’s that sound?”

“I would be liking that greatly!”

Dorothea pouts. “Aww, Petra, we won’t be in the same class anymore. You don’t want to transfer because of me, do you? I’m sorry if I ever said anything out of line!”

“No, you are a wonderful companion, Dorothea,” and the latter’s face brightens. She giggles as she brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “I enjoy your company very much. But there are… things I want to be accomplishing while here at Garreg Mach, and I feel like I will grow in the way I need in Professor Byleth’s class.”

“You can join too if you’d like,” Byleth tells Dorothea. “I have the space on my roster, after all.”

“A very tempting offer, Professor. But,” she tilts her head to the side, looking up at the ceiling as she taps her cheek with a manicured finger, “Professor Manuela is a joy to have as an instructor. It’s an honor that I get to study under her again here at the academy.”

She gives her a small smile. “However, in time I _might_ be convinced to switch classes. A girl like me loves attention you know, so if you happen to give me enough of it, _well_,” she draws out the word, rolling her tongue, “I’d just _have_ to join when you lavish me with so much affection, now wouldn’t I?” she ends with a wink.

“Okay,” Byleth nods, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Dorothea laughs. “Oh my, I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy this.”

The three of them spend the rest of the dinner hour slowly working through their food and additional desserts before Byleth bids them a farewell to look for Claude. Petra mentions that she had seen him in the entrance hall earlier just as dinner was starting, “but he was not wearing the student uniform. He looked like he was wearing the civilian clothes.”

Byleth walks through the hall to see if she can spot him, but there are only clusters of knights and monastery residents speaking in lively voices. Some have a mug of ale in their hands, or a plate of whatever leftover food they managed to snatch before the dining hall officially closed for the day.

She heads to the marketplace, standing in front of the steps. She can’t eye Claude from here, but the vendors know who he is, so there would be no reason to dress like a commoner. Unless he really intended to go down to Mach Foothills.

“Greetings, Professor!” Anthony salutes from his post. “You looking for someone?”

“Hello, Anthony. Have you seen Claude walk past here earlier?”

“Yeah I did, actually. Lord Claude took a horse with him. He was dressed pretty simply; just a plain white long-sleeve and some brown trousers. Had a worn satchel over his shoulder too. Wouldn’t tell me where he was going when I asked. Only that he wanted an evening to himself at the town. Should be back before curfew, is what he said.”

“All alone? Are you sure?”

Anthony nods. “Looked like it.”

Though the sun doesn’t set until much later in the evening during the summer, it’s already 5 p.m. and a bit late for a student to be going out to the town. From what Anthony just told her, seems like Claude didn’t take his bow with him either in case of an emergency. Maybe he at least has a dagger to protect himself?

While she doubts the people in Mach Foothills will recognize who he is, she still can’t be sure there won’t be nefarious others who’ll try to take advantage of the situation and line their pockets with a ransom.

_Why are you so worried about the boy? He has been trained well thus far._

_But other people could get the jump on him, and that’d be bad. He’s not all that good yet at close-range combat._

_You are not his caretaker, Byleth. He is a grown young man and does not need a nanny. Besides, he is quite clever and could most likely get himself untangled out of any web that he happens to run in to._

_No, I still can’t have that. I have to go find him._

_Ugh. Very well. Go rescue your not-damsel who is not in distress, then. I suppose a trip to town would be a nice change of scenery anyhow._

“Anthony.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“If anyone asks for me,” she says, walking to the stables, “tell them I went to Mach Foothills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you read the previous chapter on last Saturday evening or later, you might've noticed I changed some things around. I finally figured out how to do work skins on AO3 (after looking at a lot of tutorials lol). Originally, I was gonna have it where Sothis' dialogue was in a serif font, and any sections meant to be some kind of written message were gonna have a box around it to kinda imitate paper. Then I read that work skins don't transfer over when people download fanfics. You'd have to read the fic online to see the pretty formatting. And if you did download a fic that has a work skin, the download will try to recreate it without using all that fancy CSS. There's a risk it might look weird because of this.
> 
> That sounded like a headache for everyone. So, I just removed the default chapter headers AO3 uses; they make the space on top look cluttered. Lmfao I think it looks better this way though, having the chapter titles in the actual fic area so they're not so imposing and won't get aligned weird if the titles are too long. And, that means the chapter titles will appear like that now if you ever wanna download this fic! You folks like it? I tried not to make a work skin that would be obnoxious, so you don't have to even turn it off/hide it! I also moved the dates to the right since it's been looking weird to me for a while. Think it's because I'm used to writing the dates on the top right-hand corner in school.
> 
> Why am I telling you all of this? Because whenever I write a FE fanfic, it's out of my desire to make it read as (and look) close to an actual fantasy genre novel as possible. Like the ones you'd buy at the bookstore. I am very deprived of good fantasy genre books, so this is how I'm compensating. By writing about my fantasy genre OTP. Lmao
> 
> Kind of a short installment again with yet another corny title, but Chapter 20 will have more Claudeleth goodness!
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	20. XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Claude gets assigned dish duty for his weekly chores and ends up accidentally shattering several of them while trying to clean. He has a chat with Leonie about looking for a job in town. Knowing that Byleth will unfortunately have her pay cut to repair the damages, he wants to make up the money to her. Leonie encourages him to go for it, and he decides to make an alias so he'd get hired. After a month of gathering clues, Byleth has deduced the most likely place to be targeted during the Rite of Rebirth is the Holy Mausoleum. But she doesn't want to bring it up with Seteth until she shares her findings with Claude. During her search for him, she ends up spending the dinner hour with Dorothea and Petra. The latter of the two requests to join her class, and Byleth accepts. Petra also gives her an idea of where Claude might be. Anthony further confirms it by telling her that he went out to the town, unarmed, but didn't say what for. Byleth decides to take a trip to Mach Foothills too, just to make sure nothing bad happens to him.
> 
> **Onward.**

⚠️ **Content Warning(s):** Racial Discrimination

#### ⧼ XX ⧽  
  
A Quiet Relief

Claude supposes he should’ve told someone he was spending his evening in town. But Anthony saw him leave. If anyone needs to find him, they can just ask the ever watchful Gatekeeper of where he might’ve run off to.

So far, his luck in finding a job hasn’t been successful. He had gone to the printing press shop first knowing that the prices for their services would net him decent coin should he help around. But they were full-staffed. He tried the various produce stalls in the marketplace, but the vendors had been doing this for so long, they didn’t need assistance.

A tea shop some stores down looked like a cozy place to work. He knows enough about tea and even tried to persuade the shopkeeper as much. But he gave Claude a quick, “No, we’re fine as is, thank you,” looking down at him from behind his upturned nose. His eyes had stuck to Claude’s back wherever he roamed about the store, perhaps waiting for him to steal wares when he wasn’t looking.

_As if I’d steal something unnecessarily pompous like tea_, he had thought when he left.

The sun is lower in the sky now. Everything is blaring in a sharper light, and the heat from the early summer evening makes the shade just about as worthless as a half-eaten sausage link thrown out back in the garbage bin.

He stops to rest both himself and his borrowed horse underneath the shade of a tree with a bench. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought the horse. Anyone who has a horse has to not be too down on their luck to need a job, or at least that’s what some people might think.

It’s better than assuming a handful of the people in Mach Foothills are taking too much notice at the drastic color difference between his skin tone and their own.

Perhaps he should leave the horse here. Write some kind of sign he’ll be back later and if not, to return it to Garreg Mach Monastery. At least then he won’t be _entirely_ responsible if someone steals it because they would have read the sign to know it belongs to the church.

He does just that, taking out a piece of parchment and a lead stick, writing down to return the horse by nightfall. He attaches it to its saddle, patting it on the neck.

“Sorry to leave you so soon,” he says to it as he wraps the reins around a slit from the bench, “and without water nearby,” so he feeds it an apple instead, “but it’ll be better if it’s just me wandering around in the sun. Try not to get bored.”

Claude continues his search for a part-time job. Some people tell him he’s too young-looking, and others say it’s a family business so no outside help is needed. Then he comes across an apothecary shop after another hour. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He knows the mortar and pestle like the back of his hand and is very quick to remember what plants can and can’t harm him, externally or otherwise.

“Evening!” the man greets from behind the counter when Claude strolls in. “How can I help you?”

“I was just wandering around,” Claude starts with a shrug, hands in his pockets, “looking for somewhere to work. And then I spotted this place. You have a pretty wide collection of medicines in here, sir!”

The shelves are lined with labeled jars of all sizes and colors. Some jars just have the plants in them while others are already crushed into powders. The man smiles, gazing around his shop. “Yes, I pride myself on these things! I’m a bit of a botanist.”

“_Really_?” Claude asks, fake enthusiasm stressing his every word. “That’s great! I’ve been wanting to become a botanist myself. But there aren’t many in this town, are there? I’d like to learn more—find a mentor of sorts, but I don’t have enough money to attend a school or anything. Name’s Charlie Rigby, by the way.” He offers his hand out for a shake. “And you are?”

“Eustace,” he replies, taking the hand shake. The man looks him up and down. For this very reason is why Claude opted to dress as casually as he could before he left the monastery.

“You look like a Eustace!” he compliments. “Yeah, hard to find a job anywhere.” Claude leans against the counter. “I’ve been just doing odd little things for people like taking out the trash, washing dishes, feeding the goats on farms—things like that.”

“So… are you an orphan…?” he asks, looking him over again.

“Pretty much. Traveled a little bit from town to town to make a living. Got too old for the orphanage, so I started working at whatever people would allow me to. Now that I’m 18, though, I feel like I can officially work where I can be seen. Y’know, without my boss getting in trouble for employing a kid.”

“Ah, I see. Well,” the man rubs at his chin, looking away, “I don’t actually need much help right now….”

“Are you sure? I’m a fast learner!”

Frowning, the man shakes his head. “My daughter helps around—she’s about your age, actually, and this place doesn’t get much visitation in the warmer months. Afraid I wouldn’t be able to pay you decently even if I wanted to hire you.”

He studies Claude closer now. Having a daughter is probably why he doesn’t want to allow some random boy into his shop when he can’t be at the front counter at all times.

“I can take whatever you’ll pay me with,” he bargains. “Even if it’s less than standard. And hey, I might even be able to convince people to shop around here more during the spring and summer! I’ll throw in that nearly free bit of advertisement, just for you Eustace! A token of my gratitude. Then you can spend more time with your dear daughter.”

The man shakes his head again. “No, sorry. I can’t help you. And you’ll have to excuse me, but, I’ve got to come clean: the last time I allowed a youth like you into this shop, my daughter’s heart was broken.” The frown deepens, and with it, so do the lines on his brow.

Shaking his finger at him, he adds, “And I have a feeling you’ve also got that smooth talking way about you, just like the other young man. It’s how my poor sweet Violet believed all his honeyed words and allowed him into her bed when I was off on a business trip. And he’s one of those—the students from the church academy. I know the uniform!”

He stares off at nothing, looking angrier than he did a minute ago. “If I ever see that no good, two-timing son of bitch around these parts again, I swear I’ll yank every last strand of red hair from his pretty face and—!”

_Damn it, Sylvain. You really get around._

“Boys can definitely be good-for-nothings,” Claude agrees. “And your Violet absolutely deserves better than men like that. But hey I get it; any father would be afraid some charming, handsome guy would try to manipulate his daughter into sharing her bed with him. No hard feelings; I’ll just show myself out then.”

As he’s walking away, he notices one of the plant jars sticking out from behind some of the powdered herbs. _Now what is this doing here? _he thinks as he reads the label._ Better take it, just in case._

Claude sets it down on the counter and asks, “How much for this?” but Eustace doesn’t answer him, instead choosing to mutter under his breath about young, attractive scoundrels. “I’ll just leave more than enough then.” He puts 500 worth of coin on the wooden surface. This plant isn’t common around these parts, after all.

The man doesn’t even say a word to him, or questions how he found it amongst his wares. Just keeps ranting as he routinely dumps the little gold discs into his wooden money box. He counts what he’s made today in the palm of his hand, “—and boys these days have no honor! None! They’re nothing more than stray dogs in a rut!”

Claude stows the jar in his satchel as he closes the door. “Yikes. I have a feeling Eustace isn’t the only angry father of a daughter in this town.”

He keeps looking around, slightly lamenting the loss of working in an apothecary shop. Eustace might’ve had more tips and tricks to show him when making concoctions, but the guy’s temper and protectiveness of his fair Violet might’ve tainted his perception of Claude’s motives.

It’s getting late, and more of the restaurants and taverns in town are starting to light their lamps outside the doors. Marketplace vendors are storing their wares back in their crates, loading up their carts and locking them for the night.

“Well,” Claude looks up at a rickety sign that reads ‘The Wyvern’s Gizzard’ sticking out of an alleyway, “now what is this little hidey hole? And would they dare to employ a young lad such as myself? Only one way to find out.”

When he steps into the tavern, it’s already pretty noisy. The smell of broth and cooked meat is heavy in the air along with wafts of ale and discourteous stenches of hearty belches. No one looks his way, probably too engrossed in their own woes of the day or evening meetups with friends.

He approaches the bar, sitting on one of the stools. The bartender eyes him as he cleans one of the big wooden mugs. “Ain’t you too young for this kinda establishment?”

Ironic to hear, since Claude’s almost positive some of these waitresses can’t be any older than 16. “Oh you misread me, good sir! I’m not here for a drink. I’m here to offer my services.”

“What kinda services?”

“Cleaning, mostly, so long as they aren’t dishes. But I can also whip up a good meal or two and get you even more coin than,” he watches as a barmaid carries around a platter of thigh legs slathered in grease and butter. Maybe from a pig, “what you’re currently getting from your menu. And in turn, I won’t even charge you for more than you’re paying the fair ladies here.”

Grunting, the man trains his eyes on him. Claude folds his hands on the counter, meeting his stare with a civil smile. He looks him over, head to torso. Eyeing the braid that hangs from the right side of his hair, the bartender replies slowly, “We don’t need help from your kind here, kid.”

Maybe it’s because he’s tired from walking around in the sun, or a little disheartened at not finding a job despite his suspicions that several places could use cheap labor. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s about had enough for one day of people looking at his skin before any of his words take time to process in their thick skulls.

“My kind, huh? You’re pretty confident in deciding I belong to a ‘kind’ without knowing anything about me.”

Leaning over the counter, the man looks him in the eyes. “You can speak our language all you want, perfect and without a trace of your other tongue. But I ain’t blind, and can see the dirt on your face clear as day, boy.”

“The lighting in here isn’t too great, friend,” Claude replies evenly. “Everyone looks different than they would in the daylight.”

“Nah,” the man shakes his head, grinning, “I know a filthy Almyran when I see one.”

Claude grows quiet at that, and so do the two guys one seat over from him. His smile is starting to strain the muscles in his face. With a hum and a nod, he decides this place isn’t worth the effort of trying to fish for a job.

“Have a good night,” he says, slipping off the counter stool. He can feel eyes on his back as he walks away. Hears mugs being set down on the counter. Slurred mutters and watery giggles, an exclamation of, “There’s a _what_ here?” and that’s all he needs to know that maybe this was a bad idea to think people would at least look the other way about his age in a seedy shop such as this.

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t wait for anyone to call him some kind of derogatory name he’s heard before. Claude just keeps walking as the streets grow quieter, emptier, and the lights from inside whatever is left open start to glow from the fuzzy textures of the windows.

The horse isn’t there when he gets back to the bench. And the consistent line of footsteps he hears nearby start to make him nervous. But isn’t this what he’s learned to do ever since he was a kid? Keep running, keep fighting. Don’t scream about it, don’t cry, don’t talk back. Just think to live another day. Another day to endure the same thing over and over and over again. Until by some miracle it stops, or he’s six feet in the ground.

For now, he chooses the first option, and runs.

As expected, the footsteps behind him get louder as they chase after him. He thinks he should’ve explored Mach Foothills more before trying to scrounge around for a job. Or maybe he should’ve just taken the damn horse with him after all. Not one of his better ideas.

But that’s why one has at least three contingency plans in reserve. (And being a fast runner also helps.)

He darts around clusters of people coming out of restaurants and ignores their yelps of surprise. The men behind him probably tripped over a few people because there’s complaints and the knocking over of water barrels and frustrated shouts of vendors closing their stalls who now have to pick up the vegetables or fruits that tumbled out of the crates.

And Claude hates calling himself lucky. He really does. Because luck doesn’t exist. Especially not when he rounds the wrong corner and is met with a dead end between three houses with windows on the third floors, at least from this angle. Only other things in this little nook are garbage bins and lazily clustered wooden crates. The clotheslines are too high up for him to grab onto as well, and he’s not strong enough to stack the bigger crates on top of each other to reach them.

Claude stops to catch his breath. He clenches his fists at his sides when the multitude of footsteps halt at the mouth of the alleyway. _Talk about déjà vu. Guys are a little bigger this time though. And still bigger than me. Isn’t that how it always goes?_

“Fellas!” he greets, turning on his heel. Maybe he can talk his way out of this, but their drunken stupors hint that he could be in for some painful disappointment. “Sorry for running off like that, but I like to have an evening jog now and again. I’m sure big strong guys like you can relate, huh? Gotta keep up the athletic physique.”

“Yer a fast one, I’ll give ya that, Almyran,” the rounder of the three says. He grins, crooked teeth creeping through. “But ya don’t know these parts, do you? Now yer trapped like a filthy rat.”

“Far away from home,” the second says. “Can’t say I’ve seen too many Almyrans in my time.”

“As it happens,” Claude starts, “I’m just a traveler. From a dinky little corner of Fódlan. Wanting to see the sights of this big, grand country I live in. So I don’t mean to start any trouble—”

“Then you shouldn’t have come here,” the third says. “Your people don’t believe in our fair goddess. Why so close to Garreg Mach? Try’na weasel your way in to learn our secrets?”

“I’m a lover of architecture,” he corrects, “so I wanted to see the magnificent cathedral with my own eyes. You can understand, right? Gone to a little service now and again at the monastery?”

“Can’t say I have, no, not in a long time,” the man replies with a burp.

_Well, that explains a lot of things._

“Then we should take a trip up there together!” suggests Claude, arms spread wide. “Get acquainted with the fair, _merciful_, and benevolent goddess. Learn how to be more like her.”

The three men walk toward him, and Claude refuses to allow them to cage him in. (Not this time. Never again.) So he approaches, looking for any openings. He could probably swipe at their legs to throw them off balance. They’d be drunk enough to take a few seconds to get back on their feet. If that fails, he’s pretty agile and can probably hop off one of the crates and jump over their heads. Should that not work either, well, he brought his satchel for a reason.

“Say,” he starts, reaching into the bag, “how about you three and I make a little deal?”

“What kinda deal?” the first one says, wobbly on his feet.

“No,” the second says, throwing his hand in his friend’s face, “we ain’t making deals with Almyrans. Let’s just kick this kid’s ass and be done with it.”

“Oh,” Claude says, hand stuck in his bag, fingers wrapped around the jar, slowly twisting the lid loose, “I understand. Not all of us need a pouch-full of money.”

Stopping his companions in their tracks, the third man slaps both of his arms across the others’ chests to halt them. “Money?”

“Yeah, see,” slowly he takes out the jar, nestling the top and bottom with one hand on each, “I came across this rare plant. You know how much these things go for? A lot. More than 1,000 coins, in fact. Hard to get, and so I reckon you could barter with an interested buyer for a lot more than usual. Maybe a healer. Doctors have loads of money.”

Narrowing his eyes, the man leans forward to get a better look. Claude doubts he knows what it is: a poisonous plant called Goblin’s Giggle that causes severe itching upon contact with the skin. It has little follicles on the stem and the underside of the leaves that brush off easily, which is the source for the irritation. But if the leaves are boiled in water, it then becomes the cure for said itch. It can also relieve other itches caused by a wide variety of plants from the same genus. While not as rare as he’s making it sound, it is difficult to get since it grows only in the most arid regions of Faerghus. It does wonders for the community of healers all around Fódlan.

“And how do we know he ain’t lying to us?” the second says to the first. His voice comes out in a harsh whisper loud enough for Claude to hear.

The first man grunts, then holds his hand out, gesturing to the jar. “Lemme look; see if this fancy plant is even worth it.”

Oh the language of money. How it can get him out of sticky situations. But then again, he can’t trust these guys won’t try to just grab it and pummel him the next second. Drunkards tend to not be the most reliable of people.

“Yeah, ‘course. Better to look at it in the light. Right over,” he walks backward, closer to one of the lamps above a windowsill, “here. This should do it.”

As they crowd around him, Claude makes sure to stand nearest to the most drunk of the men. He’d be too sloshed to realize the exact moment Claude sprints for the alleyway exit. Holding the jar at arm’s length, he says, “Have a look for yourself.”

And then gives it a harsh toss in the air. “Whoops. My bad.”

Gasping, the three men look above as it sails up to the clothesline and bounces off a drying bedsheet. The jar tips over and the plants tumble out of their glass prison, landing directly on the faces of the three brutes. Immediately their skin starts to turn red and one shrieks as a leaf taps one of his eyes.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, rubbing at it. “Augh I can’t—this damn itch!”

“The hell did that kid—,” but Claude has already ducked below them and sprints out from underneath their arms, “—get that little shit!”

Unfortunately for Claude—because it’s as he knows to be true, good luck isn’t such a thing with him—he steps on the tail of a cat and it shrieks (he almost laughs at the predictability), startling him to spin on his heel and crash into a crate, sending him fumbling to the floor for only a second before he’s back on his feet again.

But that’s enough time for the men to grab at the strap of his satchel and yank him backwards. And when you have three muscular drunkards who are also hopping around on their feet trying to stop an itch, one teenager who knows better than to just accept his fate of a beating, and an unbuckled satchel full of said teenager’s benign poisons stashed for emergencies, well, no one is going to have a fun night.

Claude crashes into the chest of the man who pulled him back and that man collides with the one behind him. The satchel flap pours out the vials that shatter upon impact on the stone floor and causes the third drunkard to slip, sending all three of them down onto the wet ground mixed with the liquid and powdered unpleasantness.

Or at least, Claude is the one who finds himself accidentally inhaling them. He coughs, trying to stand as one of the men lifts him by the collar of his shirt. The swing upward has his stomach doing flips and why the hell did he think to bring his _nausea_ poisons with him and oh gods he feels it in his throat the more the man shakes him around and he doesn’t hear anything except the disgusted yell of the guy he undoubtedly hurled on and then he’s being thrown to the ground and fuck, there’s a piece of glass that says ‘_Sleep_’, and now Claude is cursing to himself about bringing this horrible,_ potent_ combination with him because his vision is fuzzy and his stomach lurches again and he really doesn’t know the ramifications of mixing up these particular toxins.

And he hears the men yelling at him and raising their fists and legs as if they’re about to kick the living shit out of him. But every smack against flesh isn’t his own, or maybe he’s too sick to even feel it. A fourth fuzzy figure is tossing the men around the alleyway, throwing them over their shoulder and causing a ruckus with the crashing crates and overturned garbage bins.

Then Claude is lifted off the ground and he vaguely feels himself muttering something to the person, not to rock him too much because they’re in for a horrible surprise.

A hand rubs at his back and he can only hang his head as the sickness and sleep makes the alleyway fade into a void of silence.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


She’s not going to say she was panicked when she saw those goons about to turn Claude into a pulp. Because panic isn’t a thing she’s ever really felt. Or maybe she was panicked, and that’s why it was so easy for her to toss around three grown men like ragdolls to save her student.

Byleth is quick to scour the scene for any trace that they might be from Garreg Mach. But whatever Claude had intended to do in the town, he was smart about it, and left any evidence of his origins back at the monastery.

He’s knocked out on the trip back. But about two or three times, the bounce of the horse they ride has him temporarily wake up and hurl over the side. After that last time, she manages to get out of him just broken words of ‘poison’ and ‘I’m a dumbass’ before he’s back to being sicker than a cow with explosive diarrhea.

Anthony is quick to respond when she yells more than asks for him to take the horse back to the stables.

“Oh my goodness!” He tilts his helmet up to get a better look as she carefully maneuvers Claude off the mount. “Wh-What happened, Professor?!”

“I’ll explain later. Gotta get him to the infirmary before he vomits again.”

She doesn’t wait to hear his words of wishing Claude well. Byleth sprints past with him securely in her arms, thankful that most residents of the monastery are in their quarters. She ignores any questions from the few who do spot her flying up the staircase of the faculty building. Claude groans as she reaches the second floor, and the sound of suspicious intestinal gurgling has her running even faster.

_Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up._

The healers in the room yelp when she rushes in, setting him on the nearest vacant bed. Byleth searches around for a bucket, grabbing it from the shelf and holding it out to him. Claude, in his half-conscious stupor, grabs it upon reflex as he hurls again.

There are a few cuts along his arms, probably from the broken glass. Not all of them bleed, but they are red and she wonders if the poison actually got into his blood stream. That’s probably not good, and just as she’s about to ask for Manuela, the woman appears at the foot of the bed with two of the nuns.

“Professor, what’s—oh dear.” She turns away with a scrunched nose after having noticed the bucket. “What happened to Claude?”

“I’ll explain later. Please just make him stop vomiting.”

“I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong!”

Byleth explains the nausea caused by poisons, and mentions something about a sleep toxin. Immediately Manuela orders the nuns to bring her a stomach tonic from the locked shelf. She has Claude’s shirt changed as it’s stained with the liquid poison among dirt and whatever of his digested food didn’t make it to the floor on their way back from town.

The nuns ask Byleth to step away, but she doesn’t go any further than the middle of the room. She stands there, legs together and arms crossed over her chest. Manuela forces Claude to drink the tonic, explaining he might hurl the first dosage (which he does), but after the second one, he relaxes back on the infirmary bed, groaning as he holds his stomach. The nuns clean everything up, taking away the sullied clothes and the bucket.

She watches as the nuns give him two extra pillows to keep him somewhat sitting up on the bed. Manuela casts a healing spell over him to close up the cuts and carefully extracts the small pieces of glass. The nuns bring over a bowl of cold water and dip a cloth into it. They twist the excess liquid back into the bowl before placing it on his forehead. It’s to help keep his temperature steady. They also give him a glass of water, which he only partially drinks before falling asleep again.

With a heavy sigh, Manuela says, “He should be okay now. I think he had hurled whatever he ate for the entire day. Had he kept going, he might’ve started vomiting just blood, bile, and possibly even stomach acid. That wouldn’t of been good. He’ll most likely fade in and out of sleep several times tonight.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Byleth asks, stepping closer.

“The magic I healed him with should help the body speed up the process of fighting the poisons on its own, and the tonic will ease his stomach. He’ll be fine with a bit of bed rest and a few more magical check-ins. But it’s getting close to curfew, so you should—”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I want to stay here.”

“Professor,” she starts gently, “I know you’re concerned, but the code of conduct is that I can’t leave a student alone with—”

“It’s not like I’m going to do anything weird, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Manuela stares at her. Stares at her chest where she’s still tightly crossing her arms, and at her taut shoulders. Standing, she gives a small smile. “Well, for tonight, I guess I can make an exception. After all, I owe you one.”

“Owe me for what?”

The woman places a chair next to Claude’s bedside. “For not ratting me out the time you got in trouble with Seteth. When you flirted with that student to make him pay attention. It was my advice that got you in the hot seat, after all.”

Goddess, she had forgotten about that. And she had hoped everyone else forgot about that too.

When Byleth doesn’t respond, Manuela giggles. “Oh don’t be embarrassed! Happens to the best of us. You don’t know how to flirt, which is adorable in its own right.” She takes one of the lamps from the shelf and lights it with fire magic. Setting it on the nightstand next to the bed, she says, “You might be bored keeping an eye on him. I can lend you a book to pass the time.”

“That’d be nice, thank you. I have some work I need to grade, too.”

Byleth returns to the infirmary with her ledger and by then Manuela has the book on the chair. She explains that when Claude wakes up, to give him another dosage of the tonic. The poison in his system is of the common variety, and when she asks how he got infected with it, Byleth lies and says she doesn’t know. Only that he was nearly beaten by three men in an alleyway, and maybe they were responsible for it.

“What on earth did he do to have that happen?” Manuela asks, voice and expression painted with concern.

“I have no idea, but, those men won’t be bothering him again,” Byleth says as she takes her seat at the bedside.

“Professor,” Manuela shakes her head, “please tell me you didn’t—”

“No I didn’t kill them. But maybe next time they’ll pick on someone their own size.”

“I’m not saying this to be rude, I can assure you. But, you’re smaller than Claude. Smaller than me, even.”

“Well, then,” Byleth opens her ledger, dipping the quill into the inkwell, “they ought to pick on someone of their own strength. Although in this case, they had the misfortune to meet me.”

Laughing quietly, Manuela gives a sigh with a slump of the shoulders. “You really do go out of your way to keep your students safe, don’t you?”

“I’m responsible for them,” she says softly. Byleth looks over to Claude’s sleeping form. His chest rises and falls softly as he slumbers. The moisture on his forehead is difficult to discern as sweat or dampness from the cool cloth. She hopes it’s the latter; the last thing he needs is to catch a fever. “And their wellbeing comes before anything else.”

“Yes, I can see that. Some more than others, I assume.”

Byleth looks her way but Manuela has already turned around, putting out the lamps from the walls and tables. The only one left lit is the one next to Byleth.

“Well, I’m off to bed.” She stretches her arms above her head and cracks her back. “If you need anything, I’m just down the hall. Make sure to wet the cloth whenever it becomes too dry. Have a good night, Professor.”

“You too, Professor Manuela.”

The door is shut with a soft click.

_Why did you not return to your quarters?_

_Because._

_That is not a good enough answer. You have had a long day, Byleth._

_And Claude has had an even longer one. Who knows what would’ve happened to him had I not been there? It was right of me to go to the town._

_Yes, I suppose you are correct, in this instance. He was in a poor state when you found him. I wonder what those brutes had wanted with him?_

Whatever it was, Byleth will have to wait until Claude wakes up. She spends a good silent, long while grading quizzes and logging the marks into her roster sheet. On the first vacant slot where the student names are listed, she makes a note to add Petra’s name there now that she’ll be joining the class. Or maybe she should just make a new grading sheet altogether. No, better to leave it as is. In the future event of more students joining, the roster sheet will be out of alphabetical order anyway.

_With this done, I guess I can read now_, she decides as she sets the ledger on the nightstand and closes the inkwell tight.

The book Manuela had given her is a novel judging by the title, _Fragrance In the Moonlit Night_. This doesn’t sound like an academic tome, so it must be of the romance genre. A few pages after introducing the heroine, it sounds like it’s going to be an _erotic_ tale too based on how descriptive the author gets about the protagonist’s ‘perky breasts’ and ‘milky thighs’.

_Maybe I shouldn’t read this. I don’t know anything about this… topic. I’ll just be confused. Perhaps I should ask Manuela to teach me about this stuff later._

_I would strongly suggest you do not. Her last bit of ‘advice’ almost got you branded as a temptress._

_That’s going a little far. I’m nothing like a ‘temptress’._

_You do not act like one, although those with scandalous thoughts may disagree otherwise based on your appearance alone. You have quite the shapely figure, Byleth._

_Can’t do anything about my huge tits. Or my thighs, hips, and ass. People are just gonna have to deal with it. They can gouge out their own eyes if it’s that much of a problem._

Her brows raise when Sothis actually giggles.

_Yes, as I have said, you act nothing like how those more ignorant would expect with you looking as you do. And yet, that is something that others find charming about you._

A groan from the bed has her setting the book down. Claude is slow to open his eyes, but after glancing around the room, he speaks when he sees Byleth sitting next to him.

“Teach? What’re… Where…?”

“You’re in the infirmary,” she starts, voice soft to keep the room quiet. “I brought you here after I found you in that Mach Foothills alleyway. What did those men want with you?”

“Who knows?” he says with a weak smile. “But it was starting to get ugly, so I—,” he winces, holding his stomach, “—ugh, I shouldn’t of brought the nausea poison too. Just the sleep one would’ve been fine. At least I know what they do now if mixed.”

“Claude.”

He sighs, closing his eyes again. “I went to the town to look for a job,” he starts slowly. “Didn’t have any takers for my generous offer of not being paid all that much. It’s not like I’m not old enough now. Just needed some kind of income.”

“Why?”

Looking at her as he turns his head against the soft pillows, he says, “Felt bad that the kitchen lady was gonna deduct your pay because of my mistakes. Wanted to… make up that money to you somehow.”

Byleth is silent. She takes the cloth from his forehead and dips it in the water. Wringing it out, she says, “You didn’t have to do that. It’s why I budget, so there’s enough for the class funds, and my personal compensation.” She folds the cloth into a neat rectangle, setting it back on his forehead.

“Still. Was my fault. But hey, I came out of that tussle unscathed, so it’s fine.”

“You kept vomiting on the way over here when you weren’t knocked out, and you had a few cuts from the broken glass vials. That’s a weird definition of ‘unscathed’.”

He laughs, then gives a hiss as he winces. “Yeah, stomach’s really not agreeing with me right now.”

“Do you need another bucket?”

“No no, I’m… good. Did I puke on you?” Clenching his eyes shut, he adds, “I did, didn’t I? Damn, how embarrassing. And super fucking gross. Now I owe you ten times over.”

“You didn’t puke on me, thankfully.”

“Well, I’m still sorry you had to carry my ass over here and witness me hurling. Ah,” he opens his eyes again, “what did Professor Manuela say?”

Byleth relays the diagnosis. Had he kept vomiting, with his stomach vacant of any of the meals he had today, he would’ve eventually expelled bile, and possibly blood and stomach acid because of the combination of the mixed toxins. Wouldn’t have been good for the protective lining in his throat and intestines. The tonic is supposed to help settle his nausea, and the healing magic will take care of the rest of the poison.

He makes a pained sound, frailly waving his hand at her to stop. “Okay, okay, I get it. Please just… stop talking about innards. Otherwise I might need a bucket or two after all.”

She’s quiet as she uncorks the tonic. “Manuela said you should take it every so often. Try a little more,” she hands it to him, “before you go back to sleep.”

Claude takes a quick drink and makes a sour face, sticking out his tongue and breathing harshly out of his mouth. “This tastes horrible,” he says, setting it back on the nightstand. “I would almost rather have my throat slowly eroded with my own acids. Almost.”

“Well I’m glad you’re safe now. Here. Back at the monastery,” Byleth replies, corking the bottle. “Don’t do something like that again.”

“Why?” he asks in that smartass way of his. He gives her a tired smirk. “Were you worried about me, Teach?”

She focuses her gaze on her lap. Byleth splays her palms out, clenching and unclenching her fists. She has worried before. During the first encounter with the bandits outside of Remire, during Zanado, during the aftermath with Lonato. But to see Claude like that, nearly defenseless while malicious, hulking men stood over him…

“Yes,” comes her quiet reply, “I was.” She traces her index fingernail with her thumb. “I didn’t… like that scene. Like seeing you in danger like that, unable to fight back. So I did it for you. Those men won’t bother you again.”

“Oh Teach,” it’s his turn to sound a little worried, “please tell me you didn’t—”

“They’re still alive,” Byleth assures. “Knocked out, but alive. Had this been elsewhere, though… I wouldn’t have hesitated to impale them with my sword if it meant saving you. You’re my… student, my partner, and I won’t allow you to be hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”

When she looks at him again, he isn’t smiling. Claude studies her face in the dim lightning of the night. The light from the candle lamp blocks out heavy shadows on the planes of his face, and the illuminated areas are dabbed with warm tones of color in the otherwise colorless room. The orange flame cuts a bead of light onto his emerald eyes.

“And that’s why I did what I did,” he says gently. “Partners, right? I help you the way I know how, and you help me the way you do. So, we’re even.”

“Claude—”

“Sssh,” he puts a finger to his lips as he closes his eyes. “Even. Although,” he peeks an eye open, looking at her. He tilts his arm out, “you _could_ hold my hand, if you’re still feeling bad.”

Byleth blinks, staring at his open palm as it rests in the air. When she doesn’t move, Claude pouts, moaning, “Please Teach, hold my hand.” He exaggerates his pouty frown, brows furrowed. “I’m ill, after all.”

Like the wisp of the tiny flame between them, something warm brushes inside her, nestled between the bones in her ribcage and tucked just adjacent to her lungs. She doesn’t know what it means, but maybe she’ll feel it again. And if she feels it enough, she might have a word to baptize it with.

For now, she takes his palm in her own. It’s a bit sweaty, but it’s warm, which means he’s alive, and that’s what’s important. Claude smiles, and brings their enclosed hands to rest beside him on the bed. He doesn’t say anything. Only closes his eyes as he lays on his back, other hand unmoving on his stomach.

She doesn’t stir until she’s sure he’s deep enough asleep that she won’t wake him. His smile has fallen now, lips slightly parted as he breathes. Byleth gently, carefully, slips her hand out of his, as much as she likes holding it (which she deems is something to be ignored for now). With it instead, she brushes away stray brown semi-curls from his forehead, still a little wet from their contact with the towel.

One of the curls hugs her finger, and then a second, and a third. She finds herself tentatively threading her hand through his wavy hair. And his hair is so soft, much like her own, but she’s never touched another person’s hair. Not even Jeralt’s.

And she likes how soft Claude’s hair is. How the strands naturally curl in that mild way of theirs. Resting like this, without his smirks or facial muscles pinched in mischief, he looks… gentle. Peaceful.

Her nails accidentally scrape at his scalp. She freezes, but all he does is continue to sleep, lips slightly pulling into the genesis of a smile. And so, she slowly scratches his head, and is rewarded with a drowsy, barely audible hum.

Upon studying his face some more, she notes that his eyebrows are the same color as his hair. Kind of thick too. And it’s… cute. Why? She doesn’t know. But it’s the first word that comes to mind. _Can_ eyebrows be cute?

(She decides Claude’s are.)

_What am I doing?_

Right now, she’s unsure if Sothis not answering her is a blessing, or another worry. Maybe she’s fallen asleep herself. But she ought to stop her physical wandering. No doubt a lecture is coming once Sothis wakes.

Byleth hovers her hand away. That flick of warmth from before feels warmer as she stares at the slumbering boy in the bed. She shakes her head and returns to her book. There’s nothing else to do here, anyway. Maybe she’ll get bored of the generous amount of description over voluptuous body parts that she’ll fall asleep too.

She slips her hand back into Claude’s, just in case it really does help speed up his healing process somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's February now! Whoo! What a good way to start it with some Claudeleth fluff.
> 
> Wasn't really sure if I should've included a content warning about the racism from the civilian characters, so I added it to be safe. Hope I didn't make anyone anxious with the way I worded the note at the top! :( This isn't the last time Claude is going to face things like this either. Kind of miffed his struggles were pushed to the background in the game, so, I'm hoping to do him justice in this work and give this issue a bit more attention, especially since it's (unfortunately) really relatable to a lot of people in a real-world context. I'm a POC myself, but I've had the fortune to not have had experienced discrimination. (Or if I did, I probably wasn't aware.) I'm going to do my best to be respectful with this subject, but if at any point you feel I'm not, please let me know!
> 
> Er, on a... lighter note from this chapter, Claude finally got those head scratches from his dear Teach. But he was asleep. u__u Hmm, should he get a few more sometime later, except when he's awake? I'll leave that up to you all. 🤔
> 
> Oh, Byleth. I wonder what that warm spark in your ribcage could mean whenever you look at Claude? Who knows. Definitely not me.
> 
> The second scene of this fic was actually inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/sirpangur/status/1155189041215737857?s=19) fanart. I just had to include it somehow because I thought it was cute, and a good portrayal of the pre-timeskip Claudeleth dynamic.
> 
> And hey, this story has received over 300 kudos! Thanks so much! You're all awesome! ;o; 💕We've also passed the 100k word count mark some chapters ago. I just never noticed until now. Lol This story still has a looong way to go before it's finished, so I hope you'll all stay with me to the end! If you see my fic tweets in the Claudeleth tag on Twitter, feel free to RT them so you can spread the word! ;w;
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	21. XXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Claude searches for a part-time job in Mach Foothills. He finds no luck, but instead some reminders of how he's 'different' from other people. A barkeep takes a racist jab at his presumed Almyran heritage, and three drunkards overhear the quip. They chase Claude throughout the nighttime streets of the town into a dead-end. He refuses to be boxed in and harassed, so he crafts a plan to escape using his silver tongue and a jar of poisonous plants. It backfires on him, getting accidentally poisoned with his own concoctions. He narrowly avoids a painful and bloody evening thanks to Byleth finding him in the nick of time. She takes him to the infirmary where Manuela works her magic at restoring him to proper health. When they're alone, Byleth confesses she was worried about him, leaving him momentarily speechless. They hold hands as an assuring comfort, and when Claude falls asleep, Byleth can't help but admire the small details of his face. Something warm blossoms in her chest when she gazes at Claude. Until she knows what to call it, she'll keep this little fact to herself.
> 
> **Onward.**

⚠️ **Content Warning(s):** Violent Racial Discrimination

#### ⧼ XXI ⧽  
  
Little King

**_Najm, capital city of Almyra_ ━**   
**_Fódlan’s 24th of the Blue Sea Moon, 1169 - 1171_ ━**

  
The earliest birthday Claude can remember is the one where he turned 8. About ten years ago.

Back home, far from the Leicester Alliance, and further still from Garreg Mach, people knew him as ‘Khalid’. The only son—only child—of Almyra’s current king, Javed Qadir, and his Fodlanese wife, Tiana von Riegan. Behind his majesty’s back, people had said that his mother had a lot of nerve naming him Khalid. To be ‘eternal’, and ‘last forever’. The next king.

As a child, he didn’t know why he was given such a lofty name. At least, not until he was put through the wringer several times over.

Despite being king, Javed was considered odd, but his unparalleled strength silenced many a tongue. Taking just a singular wife—a _Fodlanese_ wife at that—instead of having multiple consorts and children like all the previous Almyran kings had? Sure, the number of offspring to any king meant little if the children couldn’t defend their inheritance of the throne when it was time. Strength was highly valued in Almyra, after all, and if the king’s children—both the sons and the daughters—didn’t have the combat skills to prove their worth of leadership? Then what good were they?

What was even worse than being a weak royal, was a royal not being a ‘pure-bred’ Almyran.

Claude learned this the hard way. Or rather, Khalid did.

His 8th birthday was the beginning of his keen sense of awareness that, maybe, people didn’t like him, despite being the king’s son.

It started off normally enough. In the morning, he got to have his favorite breakfast and his favorite tea; so many choices of jams and cheeses for the bread, bowls of soups and porridge, and a nice hot pot of Almyran Pine Needle tea. During the afternoon, he went on a horseback ride with his mentor Nader, and after that, washed up for the usual birthday celebration in the evening.

Every member of the nobility, and the king’s extended family, gathered in the grand hosting room, the one that overlooked the lush gardens of the palace. Tables had been set, the cushions for lounging had been neatly organized along the floor, and the smell of delicious foods wafted into the space. Khalid couldn’t wait to get a plate-full of all the meats, fruits, and desserts made just. For. Him.

The room quieted when Javed began to speak, his voice bellowing around the hall. His father was a tall man with a dark, impressive beard and an even more impressive arrangement of muscles along his arms and pretty much everywhere else on his body. A few scars here and there.

Proof of his right to rule.

“Thank you all for your attendance this evening,” he started, “to celebrate the blessing that is Crown Prince Khalid Qadir. Though my only son, and still but a boy, he will continue to bring the great nation of Almyra much good fortune in the years to come.” 

He can’t remember the rest of his father’s speech. Or how many people had praised Crown Prince Khalid as the king smiled at them, only for their lips to curl into a grimace in the shadows of the candlelight and setting sun.

What he can remember is getting a plateful of juicy, savory lamb meat. The smell so good, Khalid dug right in without a second thought. Because this was a dish he always got every year on his birthday. It always tasted the same, and always brought the same amount of joy and satisfaction to his stomach.

The only difference, though, was that it was served to him. Usually, he got to decide what portions of the animal he wanted, and watched the servants cut it. This time, it had already been organized neatly among the vegetables of his plate.

And so, when his throat started to feel raw, he thought it was because of how much he had been talking earlier. But then it began to itch, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. And he was heaving, and fell to the ground, his mother quick to ask him what was wrong but he couldn’t speak.

Javed called for a healer, and everyone was noisy as panic erupted in the hosting room. How much of it was fake, Claude couldn’t tell back then. He had been too busy staring up at the ceiling, trying so hard to just make his lungs work, thinking if he had just grasped at his throat then somehow he’d be able to breathe and—

—then he woke up, back in his room. Many hours later. Nightfall dotted the skies with stars, ones he could see out of the patterned window over his favorite spot to relax and read.

His mother, Tiana, was sitting on the chaise there. Her golden brown, curly hair was resting over her shoulder, out of its braid. When Khalid shifted, her head whipped in his direction. Immediately she was at his bedside. “How are you feeling, Khalid?” she asked in Almyran as she stroked his hair. The only language Khalid knew until a couple of years later when he’d eventually ask her to teach him Fodlanese.

He tried to speak, but it stung, and only a hoarse sound scraped from his throat. It burned, and tears pricked at his eyes. Tiana frowned. “The healers said there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to speak for a few days. I’m disappointed that they were right.”

Khalid looked to her, hoping she could understand the confusion on his expression. The candlelight drew deep shadows on the planes of her face. “Someone tried to poison you tonight. It almost worked. Our mistake was not serving you the food ourselves.”

Tiana sighed. “I had been wondering when it would start. The attempts on your life. The first time was right after you were born. A near drowning, but Nader had been the first to react, and thus saved you from prematurely leaving this world. I guess others realized their mistake in being haste, and so now they’re…”

Her fist clenched in the bedsheets. “When you’re well enough, we’ll begin your training. Starting with archery, and then we shall practice swordplay. Depending on how you do, we might be able to move onto axes sooner than later.”

And thus, the point of no return for what would be the longest childhood years of his life.

His 9th birthday, he was given his own personalized bow as a present. It had been slightly heavy for someone of his size, but in time he’d learn to get used to the weight.

That year, Javed and Tiana made sure that Khalid was to choose his own cuts and portions of the food. They even had servants taste it first, and finding that nothing was poisoned, he was allowed to eat it.

Khalid couldn’t enjoy that birthday like he normally would. Even with his favorite meals, they didn’t taste the same. Didn’t make his mouth water like normal, or have him riled up in anticipation to eat it. That year, he ate a little less than the last. Just in case. (The following year, he would eventually start cooking lessons with a trusted chef in the kitchens.)

Surely, nothing could have gone wrong then, he had naively thought. Because there were guards with them in the throne room, and Javed had his own sword strapped to his sash. Tiana herself kept a dagger in the folds of her sleeves.

Then came the presents. Colorful silks, embroidered cushions, the finest crafted toys and musical instruments, all for him. Even boxes of candies and treats (which he later threw away out of caution). Nothing out of the ordinary.

He was also given what looked like a decorated jewelry box. From who, he didn’t know. With everyone awing at all of his gifts, coming to and fro presenting their own, the bodies of the guests just melded together in his peripherals.

Khalid didn’t wear too much jewelry—feeling it only got in the way, but all Almyran nobility wore at least a few pieces, women and men. To show that, yes, they are in fact of the higher rung of society. A bejeweled dagger or some other small weapon on their person also meant they knew how to use it. He only had the singular gold earring on his left ear. But the adornments of the golden box with its reds and greens and deep blues were attractive.

“Oh, it’s a puzzle box!” he mused to himself upon finding it vacant of a lock or key, but noticed grooves misplaced along its surface. “I love puzzles.” He had wanted to open it then and there, to show how clever he’d become, but Javed told him he could open it later once all of the other presents had been given.

That whole dinner had gone surprisingly well. The presents were taken to his personal study where he had his academic lessons; the room right next to his sleeping quarters. Khalid sat down and searched through everything until he found the puzzle box.

It had some kind of contraption on top that he had to move the pieces back together. They were each cut into different rectangular shapes. It was sort of easy; he could tell which belonged where based on what colors were cut off and which jewels needed to be matched together.

When he solved it, it made a click. Smiling wide, he opened it, only to find it had a black cloth stitched into the sides. “Huh? Is there nothing in here?” There was a singular depression in the fabric, like a drawstring pouch. Maybe the real prize was hidden underneath?

Khalid stuck his hand in, feeling around the box. There were definitely jewels in here of some kind. Some round, some rough, some felt like they were shaped into certain molds. He thought he felt a necklace, a ring of some kind, maybe a headpiece and—

—he screamed loud and unrestrained as pain punctured the skin on his hand and fire burned up his arm.

Tiana barged into his room immediately with her personal attendant. Upon seeing Khalid wailing, she forced his hand out of the box to find a cobra latched onto the side of his thumb. Without hesitation, Tiana took out her dagger and sliced the serpent in half.

She was able to force its jaw off of him after that. The flesh around the puncture wound was growing a sickly purple, and she hurriedly carried him to the healing wing, telling her attendant to get Javed as soon as she could.

It was her speed and knowledge of the winding hallways of the palace that the healers were able to save his left arm. The cobra was a common one too, so the antidote was at the ready. In a matter of days, the poison was fully extracted from Khalid’s system. But his arm would need some rest and specific exercises to heal properly. And so, he stayed holed up in his room for about a week and a half after that.

His mother would visit his room every day, but she’d stare out the window for longer periods than she’d talk to him.

“_Mâmân_,” he started, “when can I go back to training?” Though he bemoaned learning how to use a sword (close combat made him hesitate), he very much liked archery. Attacking from a safe distance was ideal.

Tiana looked over to him, emerald eyes unblinking. “Not until your arm is fully healed. We’ll do some more basic stretches and exercises to make sure it’s functioning properly.”

“Okay.” He stared up at the decorated ceiling in azures and verdant greens. Some freckles of gold sparkled near the window. “For my next birthday,” he started, “I want to go out. With you and _Bâbâ_. To the parade they have. I’ll be 10, and I’m old enough to leave the palace now, right?”

She was silent for a long while, looking out the window again. “Yes,” she said without turning to him. “I think that would be a good idea.”

It turned out that it wasn’t, in fact, a good idea.

That year it was especially hot. The sun was scorching, giving everything just the slightest hue of goldenrod and rust oranges. The citizens were lively in the streets, eating, drinking, and dancing. How many were celebrating him? He didn’t know. Kind of didn’t care, either. He waved when necessary. Some waved back, and others pretended they never even saw him.

But he did like all the vibrant colors whirling around him from the banners and the dancers in the streets. The smells of street food, some familiar to the dishes of the palace, and others not. Javed’s aerial guard kept watch in the sky, their wyverns sailing along the summer breeze.

“_Pedar_,” he said to him, tugging at his sleeve, “when can I get my own wyvern?”

“Patience, Khalid,” Javed replied. “You still need to show me you’re capable of wielding a sword. Archery can only get you so far.”

Grunting, Khalid sat back on the cushions, arms crossed. They were in their own little tent set up in the middle of the city where the community garden was. When Khalid had asked to join his parents that year, he didn’t mean just sit in the shade and do nothing. Sure, getting handed (un-poisoned) food and desserts was nice, but he’d never been outside of the palace until today.

How big was the city of Najm? Did they serve the same foods in every stall? Did the street food taste as delicious as the cuisine of the palace? How many stray dogs and cats were there? How far east did Almyra span? What was beyond the sea? The mountain range that cut through the continent to the west?

He watched his parents chat with their friends. The ones they could trust to not assassinate their son. Honestly, Khalid thought anyone who did try to kill him on this day, after two years in a row of failure, were kind of stupid. Security had been increased all around the city, and especially within their little spot in the garden.

But the guards were looking for adults who’d want to harm him. And not tiny bored Khalid who figured it’d be okay to just sneak right past them and have a little adventure.

Of course, he waited until everyone was distracted with some joke his father had told. Laughter erupted in the tent, and Khalid discarded the intricate headband that wrapped around his head. The people had seen him with it, and it’d be an easy indicator to who he was. Thankfully his clothing was less opulent, although he should’ve brought a plain brown tunic instead of the blue-green one with gold stitching.

He snuck under the table where food and drink had been laid out. One of the nobles had gotten up to refill himself some kind of wine. The man was very round, and equally round was the coin purse attached to his sash at the waist. Surely he wouldn’t miss it, having an inexhaustible amount of wealth back at his home. Khalid waited for him to turn back the other way so the momentum wouldn’t alert him to deft little hands yanking on the purse until the tie was loose.

Khalid tied it to his own sash and waited behind the safety of the tablecloth, hoping the man wouldn’t realize it was gone. It had been the same color as his robes, so no one would notice. Maybe. When a minute had passed without so much as a gasp, Khalid snuck a peak from a flap of the tent to make sure no guards were patrolling about. He counted how long it took them to cycle around. About two and a half minutes. As soon as one turned the corner, he dashed out and hid behind a trimmed floral bush.

Not wanting to waste time, Khalid weaved through the community garden. He wanted to stop and look at all the flowers and the glorious fountain that made the entire space like a faux oasis. But he decided that it’d be the first place his parents would look when they realized he was gone.

Idly, he wondered if he should’ve left a note. At least to let them know he hadn’t been kidnapped. Well, it was too late now. His parents would never allow him to leave their side again if he went back before at least seeing some of the city.

Nobody gave Khalid a second glance. Whether it was because he was still relatively small in height, or because he blended into the festive crowd, he didn’t know. And didn’t care. He had money at his hip and no one breathing down his neck to act ‘proper’ or hold his hand like a little baby, as if he didn’t know any better.

Khalid weaved through the crowd, one hand gently placed on top of the coin purse. He figured he wasn’t the only person here with swift movements, and he didn’t want to lose the only money he had.

Food stalls was where he spent most of his time. He watched with hungry eyes over the counter as meat was being prepared, or vendors were advertising the desserts and candies outside the window. There were also several different stalls of fruits and vegetables in the marketplace, and the further in you went, the rarer and more colorful the fruit.

Wanting to taste everything, Khalid grabbed a little sampling of every stall that smelled the best to him. He dropped enough coin as he snatched it, whether they were kabobs or some type of bread, or a fruit he didn’t even know was native to Almyra. Everything was so good. Some of it sweet, a lot of it savory, and several items a little spicy. He didn’t much like the sour or bitter stuff, but maybe when he was an adult, he’d get used to it.

To think there were so many foods he hadn’t tried. One stall in particular had vegetables and fruits that didn’t look like any he had seen that day. The tent giving shade to this particular spread looked the same as all the others. But there were less people there. And they looked more curious than hungry.

When Khalid went up to it, the sign on many of the individual crates had names written in Almyran of places he’d never heard of, followed by the type of fruit or vegetable. ‘_Fodlanese Apples_’, ‘_Brigid Coconuts_’, ‘_Dagdan Mushrooms_’, ‘_Morfis Plums_’, ‘_Sreng Melons_’, among others. They were more expensive than the products of other stalls.

Did this mean they didn’t grow here in Almyra? He knew they had coconuts on the towns and cities bordering the sea. Did the ones from Brigid taste different? And the mushrooms from Dagda? What did a Fodlanese apple taste like?

Being the most curious about it, he pointed to its crate, “Can I have one of those?” and the vendor traded it to him for a small handful of coins. Khalid bit into the apple. It wasn’t too overly sweet, and even slightly tangy. Humming to himself, he finished devouring it before asking for another. He ended up buying three more of them. _These are good!_

As he was eating up the last of the apples, he saw the royal guard meandering through the crowd. _Uh-oh. My parents are probably looking for me. But I’m not done exploring! _

Wiping his sticky hands on his tunic, Khalid zigzagged through the flush of people. He thought he heard a guard point him out, so Khalid ran faster, ducking in between legs and even tripping over a few people. He muttered apologies in every instance of it before darting into a fabric store. He blended in with the greens and blues, nabbing one of the smaller cloaks while leaving behind more coin than was necessary.

He sidled up to a family of five, hiding among their smaller children as the guards ran past them. Khalid sighed, then turned his attention to the vendor in front of him. They were selling shrimp skewers. Licking his lips, Khalid asked for one and thanked them with a handful of gold coins. The vendor looked at him with wide eyes and told him to come back—“This is too much! Hey, kid!”—but Khalid ignored them.

Running from the guards while simultaneously trying to enjoy everything the capital city had to offer, left him exhausted. He took a break in an alleyway behind a crate. They wouldn’t think to look for him there, hopefully. Otherwise he’d be too tired to outrun them. It’s _his_ birthday, so he should be allowed to just do what _he_ wanted for a change, instead of what was ‘customary’ for the crown prince.

When he was done with the skewer, he leaned back against the crate. Khalid tried to bend the piece of metal out of curiosity, but it wouldn’t budge. Or maybe he’s just too weak. Would swordplay really help him grow stronger? He wasn’t big like his cousins; even some of his girl cousins were larger than him. But he didn’t know if that was because girls just grew faster than boys. (He later learned this was the case, but not always.)

No one should be able to find him here, so he decided to take a little nap. Running through the late afternoon on such a hot summer day, and belly filled with everything delicious he could’ve only dreamed of, Khalid allowed his head to droop as he slept in the shade.

A vague dream about giant, flying, glistening apples later, he awoke from a jolt to his sash. Khalid blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he was met with three other kids who looked slightly older than him. Or maybe they were just taller. Back then, he loathed to say he was ‘small’ for an Almyran boy of 10 years old.

Despite noticing that he was awake, they only startled to a stop for a few seconds before trying to take the coin purse from him again. Khalid jumped up and tugged it away. “What’re you doing?! I can _see_ you trying to steal my stuff!” (He pretended that he didn’t steal this coin purse in the first place.)

“You wouldn’t miss it if you were asleep!” one of them said. He looked him up and down. “And your clothes are fancy—you’re a noble kid, aren’t you? What are you doing out here among us poor common folk?”

“Festivals are for everyone,” he bit back. “And how do you know I’m a noble? I could’ve just stolen these clothes. You don’t know me.”

Khalid looked behind them, wondering if he could make the dash from between them and into the crowd on the other side of the alley. But his chances were slim. The boys being taller than him meant longer limbs to grab at him when he tried to flee.

“Hey, wait a minute,” the second boy started. “I feel like I’ve seen those clothes before. Like earlier today. Did someone’s shop have them?”

The last of the boys narrowed his eyes, not letting Khalid so much as shift under his focused stare. “Wait.” From where he stood, he lifted a finger, laying it horizontally in front of his line of sight. Khalid wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, but he got his answer real quick.

“Guys, isn’t this that prince kid? The one whose birthday is today?”

“Oh, hey I think so!”

“Yeah, it’s definitely him.” The biggest of the boys crept up to him, letting his height tower over Khalid. “After all, what Almyran has green eyes like that? You’re definitely that mutt from the palace.”

The second boy snickered. “Well well, the half-breed is wandering the streets like a stray dog.”

He hated being called that. He had to hear it almost every other day from nobles and servants alike in the palace. Why was it so bad that he’s only partially Almyran? What did he do to make people look at him like he was some kind of garbage heap out on the streets?

As the three of them crowded around him (one of them cracked his knuckles), he figured it was about time he needed to head back to his parents anyway. He might as well just give up the rest of the coins.

“Fine okay, you can have them!” Khalid tossed the coin purse on the ground. The scattering of coins distracted them as they dived to pick them up, allowing him to slip behind them. “There’s a lot of good food out here so just go buy something or whatever! I’m just gonna go and—”

The tallest boy chuckled as he counted the coins in his palm. “Yeah, go ahead. Run away like the coward you are, just like your mom and the cowards from over the mountains. It’s in your blood.”

Looking back, he shouldn’t of taken the bait. But he was young, and it was hot and he just wanted _one_ birthday—one _day_—where he could peacefully enjoy it without worrying who was going to harm him next. And his mother had nothing to do with this, and he more than anyone knew very well why calling her a coward was a big mistake.

So, he figured, he was the cause for his own suffering that day. He spun on his heel and charged into the tall boy, knocking him over with the coins spilling out of his hand. Khalid made fists and started to thrash at him while the other boy covered his face in defense. Then the two watching had grabbed his arms and thrown him on the ground. He tried to scratch and bite at them, but they kept kicking and punching, shouting names at him that he couldn’t remember. But he was sure they were worse than ‘mutt’ and ‘half-breed’.

Khalid felt around on the ground and his fingers brushed against the discarded skewer from before. He grabbed it and jammed it into the leg of whoever had been closest. The boy cried out (like, actually started crying; who was the real coward?) as he fell over, holding his leg when it began to bleed from the wound. The other two growled and each gave him a hard punch to his gut. Khalid gasped out a strangled sound, holding his stomach. He wanted to vomit. It hurt so much, and he couldn’t move.

His head began to ring when the tallest boy grabbed at his chin and pulled his hair back. He was punched (hard) in the face a few times, and he felt blood trickle down from his nose. Khalid vaguely heard one of the other boys cry out, blubbering, “Why did you have to yank it out?! Now it’s b-bleeding more!”

“C’mon, gimme,” the boy pulling at his hair said, reaching out his hand behind him and clenching his fingers over and over. The skewer was placed in his hand. “Hold him down, and you hold his head like this.”

No matter how much he thrashed around, the two boys kept Khalid down. One actually sat on him, on his stomach, and that was enough to make him finally puke. The boy screamed his disgust and the other told him to shut up and just stay there. The one with the bleeding leg held Khalid’s head firmly on the ground, keeping his hair yanked back.

Twirling the skewer in his hand, the tallest of the boys grinned wickedly at him from where he loomed above. “Y’know those eyes sure are something. Like emeralds and stuff. I bet if we pluck them out, we can get some money for them!”

Khalid violently shook his head and though his limbs wailed at him to stop moving, he tried to wiggle out of the hold the boys had on him. His eyes watered as the boy tried to keep his eyelids open, steadying the skewer just above his head, arm back, ready to be plunged into the soft flesh of his eyeballs.

“Hey, what’s going on over here?! Why so much shouting?!”

The three boys scrambled to stand, dropping the skewer in the process. When faced with the royal guard, they ran away as fast as they could, except the one with the injured leg. The guards managed to capture him instead, and he cried and cried saying he was ‘sorry’ and ‘didn’t mean it’.

It was hard to pay attention after that. Khalid’s head hurt, and the sun was so hot, and he felt woozy and his nose and mouth were bleeding, and he figured maybe it was time for a nap….

_This is familiar_, was the first thing he thought of when he woke up in his room. Again. He touched his face, feeling salve and a clean bandage around it. His torso was bare, having been wrapped with more soft bandages.

His mother wasn’t there that time. It was evening, the setting sun blaring dark shadows into his room from the window. Khalid tried to shift his leg, but it only made his upper body hurt, so he chose to just lay there on his back.

He didn’t remember how long he had stared up at the ceiling. He only looked away when the door opened to his room. Upon seeing him, his mother frowned, closing the door softly behind her. Tiana walked up to his bedside, crossing her arms.

“_M… Ma…_,” he tried to say, but his face felt swollen and sore, and so he winced instead.

“What you did was very dangerous, Khalid,” she said in a stern tone. “You _cannot_ just run off whenever you please. Look what happened.”

“I didn’t…,” he swallowed hard, whimpering, “I didn’t do… anything…. I just wanted to explore the… city….”

“And you almost got blinded. Had the guards not found you, you’d be missing both of your eyes. Or worse.”

“But those… boys…,” he tried to defend, “they were… the ones who…”

“I don’t care who started it, Khalid. Your father is irate not only with them, but with you as well.” Tiana sighed angrily, looking off to the side. Her fingers gripped at her arms, almost trembling. “The injured boy told us everything. Crimes against the royal family are met with the harshest of punishments. All three of them are to be executed at the end of the week.”

Sure, they pummeled him and nearly made a kabob out of his eyes. But maybe it was because Khalid was a kid himself, and could imagine the kind of fear they were currently going through at the bottom of the dungeons.

“You don’t…,” he tried to shake his head, but it only made him dizzy, “…just punish… some other way….”

“Their intentions were clear, Khalid. They knew who you were, and still wanted to hurt you.”

“N… No,” he croaked out. “They only… wanted the coins… but I attacked them first after… they said you were… a coward….”

Tiana took a long time to stare at her son. Very slowly, her shoulders slumped. She remained quiet until the sky grew more purple than orange. “There’s no need to defend me when I’m not there, Khalid. I know who I am—what I’m capable of. I’ll probably be hearing those words until I die, but I don’t regret my choices.”

At the time, he had no idea what she was talking about. And he didn’t think to ask her to clarify. All Khalid did do was say, “They called me… ‘mutt’… and ‘half-breed’… like people… in the palace do. What did,” he managed to turn his head a little to look at her, “…what did I do, _Mâmân_, for people to… treat me like this?”

She stopped frowning, and sat down next to him on the bed. With two fingers, Tiana traced the bandage wrapped around his head. “Some people think you simply being born was a crime,” she explained. “That is why you don’t have siblings, and why you’ll never get them. But that means you’ll have to become strong, Khalid, to fight for the throne when it’s time. You need to be the change you wish to see in this world. A change that will last forevermore. It will be a slow change, but you must achieve it.”

It hurt to swallow when he did. “The people… who live beyond the mountain… the ones… the boys called… cowards…”

“They are much the same like the ones here. There’s a very high chance that they’ll hate you too simply for existing.”

“But… why…? I didn’t…,” when he blinked, he couldn’t help the tears that crept from the corners of his eyes, “do anything to them…. To the people… here…. I don’t… know them…”

“Do not cry, Khalid,” she said without any hint of frustration. “That won’t help anything. It certainly won’t change how the world works. It can be very unfair for people. Especially for people like…”

_Like me._

It shouldn’t be that way though. People couldn’t all be that cruel, could they? There had to be some good in the world. Even though many called him names that bugged him every time he heard them, there were some, like the shop vendors, who didn’t think twice about selling stuff to him. Even if he did look a little different, they didn’t care. That had to mean other people like that existed, right? They had to.

Tiana sighed again without opening her mouth. “Next year, we’ll keep your birthday small.”

“No,” he started, shaking his head once, slowly, “I don’t… want it anymore.”

“What?”

“Bad things… always happen to me now on my birthday. I don’t want it… anymore. No presents…,” a weight sunk in his chest, “no festivals… no special dinners…,” his lower lip quivered, and as he blinked, the tears he tried to keep at bay slipped down his cheeks, “I don’t… want anything. From anyone…. I just want it to… be a normal day…. I don’t… want to die….”

“Is this what you really want?”

He nodded weakly. Tiana took his hand, holding it in a soft grip. “Then fine. No more birthdays. Too much money spent on them anyway, right?”

Though he knew it was her way of attempting to cheer him up, his head still felt heavy when he nodded in agreement. But it was better this way. (And when his next several birthdays came and went, he didn’t miss the celebrations that would normally accompany them.)

When Khalid had recovered from his injuries, he got his punishment for causing his parents so much distress. Javed also called it ‘training’ to build up his endurance, strength, and pain tolerance. Khalid, however, didn’t see how being tied to a horse and dragged about could build up any sort of stamina. But it did teach him a lesson to keep his mischief under control.

Nothing bad happened on his 11th birthday, or the 12th, or the ones after that. But maybe it was that good fortune that made the bad one spread throughout the rest of each year: more poison attempts (he’s sure he’s immune to a wide variety of them at his current age), foiled assassinations in the night, and he even got injured with a bit of acid on the side of his thigh. (He was lucky that’s all it was.)

It happened so often that he figured, no, it wasn’t bad luck: this was just his fate. Luck didn’t exist, not for people like him. And, eventually, he was moved out of the palace and isolated from most other people for a long while.

(Being hated simply for existing. What lousy cards he had been dealt.)

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Claude wakes up and finds himself still in Garreg Mach’s infirmary. The candle from the lamp has gone out, leaving only the moonlight from the windows as the single source of illumination. Byleth is still there too, sitting in the chair of the silent, dark room.

She had fallen asleep since the last time he was conscious. Her head hangs a little, a novel open on her lap. Byleth’s hand remains enclosed over his, resting on the bed at his side. The moonlight draws a silver outline on her form and sketches broken patterns of light on her clothes.

He smiles, watching as her gentle breathing causes her chest to rise and fall ever so slightly. His hand squeezes hers just a little. Not enough to wake her up, but to affirm that, yes, she’s definitely here. Remained here, even when she could’ve left to her room at any time while he slept. He brushes his thumb lightly over the side of her held hand.

All things considered, he’ll count this as the best birthday he’s had in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was unsure about where to place this first look into Claude's history. Originally, I was gonna wait to share it until much later in the story, but then changed my mind. Kind of get a little salty every time I see people say Claude suffered the least out of the 3 lords, when their trauma shouldn't be compared as greater or lesser; all of it sucked, Kevin. There's no "winner" here. And this is my take on how his childhood might have gone. (Kids can be _really_ mean and sometimes downright cruel.)
> 
> If I ever write scenes in past tense, that means they're flashbacks. I don't like writing whole scenes in italics. Used to do it back when I first started publicly sharing fanfic, but now it's something I no longer prefer.
> 
> Claude's father and the capital city of Almyra are my own headcanons. I looked up Arabic naming conventions when trying to figure out a name for his dad, but I was afraid of messing it up so I just gave him a first name and a surname.... I only speak English and Spanish (and currently _attempting_ to learn Japanese), so... let me know if something seems off with the language/phrases here!
> 
> For those who haven't noticed, I added a spoiler tag to this story. That's because I finished the Ashen Wolves DLC this past weekend. And with these new characters, a name for Claude's mother was revealed: Tiana. I have yet to finish the supports of Yuri, Balthus, Constance, and Hapi, so I don't know if more background info on Claude is present there. While we're on the topic, yes, this means that I will include the Ashen Wolves side-story into this fic. I already figured out where it's gonna go too. (It's going to happen sooner than you think in this work, hee hee.) And if you've played the side-story, you might know why I gave Claude a "real" name....
> 
> (EDIT, 3/20/2020: So... apparently Claude _does_ have a real name! It's "Khalid", according to a new article in Nintendo Dream, which you can see more of [here](https://twitter.com/hellopigmi/status/1241193580926062592?s=20). Though I liked my own "Kian", I do want to follow canon as much as possible, so I changed his name to match the official one.)
> 
> Sorry for my unexpected week-long hiatus. I didn't plan on it, but once again school caught up to me. Usually I announce in advance in my author's notes when I'll take a hiatus. But in the event I don't, you can always check my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/pnkpchs) since I'll say when I'm updating! You don't have to follow me, but it's there if you ever want to know if I'm gonna post a new chapter on Fridays or not.
> 
> Or if you just wanna chat with me and witness my immense fucking thirst for timeskip Claude, you can do that too. Lmao
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	22. XXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> A look into Claude's childhood reveals his real name is Khalid, son of the Almyran king, Javed Qadir, and his Fodlanese wife, Tiana von Riegan. It also gives some insight as to why he doesn't like celebrating his birthday. Beginning with when he turned 8, there have been endless assassination attempts on him. First with an ingestible poison in his food. Then when he turned 9, a venomous snake bite from a cobra, hidden in one of his presents. And the following year, he nearly has his eyes plucked out by a trio of older boys out in the marketplace alley. Injured and sadly confused, Khalid asks his mother why he keeps being treated this way. Her only answer is that people think his very existence is a crime, and so he needs to be eliminated. To be hated simply because he breathes. How cruel a hand he was dealt by fate. And yet, when Claude wakes up in the infirmary and sees Byleth still sitting beside him, holding his hand in her sleep, he thinks maybe his birthdays will start to get better from now on.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXII ⧽  
  
The Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth

** _26th of the Blue Sea Moon, 1180 ━_ **

It took around two days for Claude to be dismissed from the infirmary. Manuela wanted to assure herself and them that the poisons had been completely filtered out of his system. Byleth had brought lecture notes and his homework for him during that time. He had tried to convince her to let him skirt the work, but she said he’s the picture of health now, so he should be able to catch up.

“Well, can’t say it was a complete chore,” he tells her as he hands in his work during the lunch hour that Friday. “After all, I got special attention from our dear Teach.”

Byleth stows the papers away in her satchel. “You need to be more careful about the kind of poisons you take with you, Claude.”

“I know, I know. But on the bright side, I’m now immune to those in particular,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve become immune to your own stuff, has it?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nope. I’d say my body’s processed, ah, 50 or so different types of poisons, venoms, and toxins. Maybe more. Kinda lost track over the years.”

That’s not at all comforting. But she supposes he sort of has a point. At least it’ll be harder for enemies to take him down through those methods, anyway.

They grab lunch in the dining hall and make their way back to the classroom. They’re supposed to meet with Seteth to tell him of their theory. When Byleth had relayed her findings to Claude as he was recovering in the infirmary, he agreed that the Holy Mausoleum was the most likely place the supposed assassins were really after.

“Could someone really want the possible remains of Saint Seiros, though?” Byleth wonders aloud. “The time frame of when it’s publicly available is what makes it the most suspicious. But I don’t see what anyone could want with the body of a dead saint.”

“You underestimate what people would do for the sake of religion, Teach.”

“That’s how you feel?” she asks, unlocking the classroom door. She’s gotten used to locking it this month, just in case. Wouldn’t do well for the infiltrators to find her notes and then change their whole plan. No one knows that she’s aware of this alleged plot, and the element of surprise is just what they might need to emerge victorious.

“Religion is a powerful tool in every culture,” he says with a shrug. “And just because someone’s religious doesn’t mean they aren’t criminal. You weren’t the only one who did their homework.”

He explains that throughout this month, he had been doing his own investigations using the books in the library. Reading tomes about the history of the monastery and its architecture. One of the texts had a passage on the cathedral with basic diagrams of its construction. The Holy Mausoleum was brought up only once, and in passing. All it mentioned was a sealed coffin with the apparent remains of Saint Seiros. He had found it suspicious this topic was breezed through considering she’s how the Fodlanese religion started in the first place.

“So your findings completely coincide with mine,” Claude finishes as he sits next to Byleth at one of the front tables. “But now the question is: will Seteth believe us?”

“I know he’s always worrying over Rhea, but we’re being rational. At least that’s what I’m hoping he’ll see.”

Seteth walks into the room with his own lunch tray some minutes later, greeting them both. He takes his seat across from them, and nods to Claude. “I heard you were admitted to the infirmary a few days ago. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks for asking.”

“I am relieved to hear it.” Seteth pours all three of them some tea. “Manuela told me of the men who attacked you, and about Professor Byleth’s intervention. Rest assured, we will catch—”

“No no,” Claude shoos his hand at him, “that’s alright, honest. Used to those days ending like that.” ‘Days’? What does he mean by that? “And I don’t even remember the faces of those guys.”

“Yes, I understand, but it is punishable to harm a student from the—”

“We’re not here to talk about me,” Claude replies with a smile. He takes a sip of his tea. “What we do need to discuss is what we found out about the assassination.”

Seteth stares at him for a moment before giving a relenting nod. “Very well. Then please tell me about the information you have uncovered.”

Byleth shows him her notes, and the notes she had gotten from the rest of her class on their own investigation. She explains their hypothesis of the assassination being a distraction. While still the possibility that someone will try to harm Rhea, they could also be planning to steal something. Or, while the attack against the archbishop is underway, another group could be using the commotion to loot the suspected area.

Rubbing at his short beard, Seteth takes his time to read the papers for himself. “This is an extensive investigation you and your class have conducted, Professor.”

“I told them to be discreet so as not to cause panic within the monastery.”

She earns a faint smile from the clergyman. “That was a wise decision. But this is something you should have brought up with me earlier. I did say I would be conducting this investigation myself.”

“Everyone could always use a helping hand,” Claude replies. “We wanted to gather enough evidence for our hypothesis to be plausible before presenting it to you. And thanks to our meticulous fact-finding, we’ve deduced that the Holy Mausoleum is the place most likely to be targeted.”

When Seteth doesn’t look convinced, Claude adds, “It’s only open once a year. To everyone, even the faculty. All these other places?” He shakes his head. “Anyone could get to them whenever.”

“There is nothing down there except the casket,” Seteth argues. “And the lid on it is quite heavy.” But didn’t Claude say it’s a _sealed_ casket? A heavy lid seems like very little security for a saint, if that’s what’s really down there. “The knights will also be escorting visitors in and out of the chambers. The time frame of entry is also very limited. Unless these insidious rogues are spiders hiding among the cobwebs, I do not see how anyone could linger behind.”

“But do you want to take that chance, Seteth?” Claude debates. “I know I wouldn’t. Best be prepared for any scenario, right?”

The man sighs, crossing his arms. He looks between them both with narrowed eyes. Does he not trust them because he still doesn’t trust Byleth? She’s not sure how to convince him she’s not a threat herself. But she feels like she’s earned at least a little bit of it after helping stop Lonato’s rebellion.

“Your reasoning is sound,” he finally says to them. “I will have knights dispatched to guard the Holy Mausoleum.”

“Okay, hold on, just a minute.” Claude leans back, waving his hands in front of him. “The knights will be better guarding Lady Rhea and other places with a high volume of visitors. We—as in Teach, our class, and myself—worked hard to keep this under wraps to not cause a bigger mess. And we _are_ supposed to help with the security during the event. Which is, y’know, today.”

“You do not know the layout of the chamber.”

“Please give us some kind of architectural drawing, then,” Byleth calmly argues. “Seteth, we want to keep Lady Rhea safe, as much as you do. We want this whole monastery to be safe, both its inhabitants and its locations. And, as the ones who came up with the hypothesis, we’re the most willing to directly engage in danger with these unknown threats in order to protect the Holy Mausoleum.”

Leaning forward a bit, Byleth continues, “The knights will be spread thin keeping an eye out on all the visitors and the locations up here on the surface. My class has the most combat experience out of all classes, and we can keep guard of the chamber until the ceremony is over. No one will think twice about a bunch of students down there. It won’t be obvious to our assailants, and so we can catch them in the act.”

Seteth closes his eyes, rubbing at his temple with his fingers. Sighing, he says, “Very well. I will bring it up with Lady Rhea.” Not the answer she was hoping for, but at least he’s budging a bit. “After all, this whole thing could be a ruse, but,” he glances at Claude, “I am not keen on taking that chance and living with regret over it.”

He doesn’t stay much longer after that. Seteth tells them to be at the cathedral by sunset. It’s when Rhea will have her sermon in the Holy Mausoleum and the doors to the chamber will be open. Byleth’s class is to remain inconspicuous upon entry so the disguised assailants think nothing of them there.

Later, when she’s finished reviewing the main points of the day’s lecture with the class, Seteth returns and offers her the mausoleum floor plans. Apparently Rhea agreed to her proposal of guarding it, but Seteth makes a comment about finding it odd that she would entrust the safeguard of such a holy place to a group of children.

He leaves after politely dismissing himself, and Byleth unfurls the scroll. It being the Rite of Rebirth, their academic day is shortened again. But she wants to spend this extra time going over formations with her class now that they have the okay to do so.

And administer the teacher evaluation surveys she made. That can wait until after, though.

“This space is _huge_,” Sylvain notes, looking over the measurements scripted on the side. “Are you sure our class will be enough to defend it, Professor?”

“We should be, yes.” She moves around tiny wooden blocks along the parchment. Each one has initials written on them as she lays out the formations. “The chamber has three aisles, so I’m going to split us up into three groups.”

On the left she clusters the blocks that represent Group A: Hilda, Lorenz, Marianne, Ashe and Petra. The right aisle has the blocks denoting Group B: Leonie, Raphael, Ignatz, Sylvain, and Lysithea. Group C is in the middle, consisting of herself and Claude, along with the remainder of the students.

“These are balanced teams,” she taps on the map, “and should cover most weaknesses of everyone.” Which is a partial lie. The teams on the side aisles are her more advanced students, and Byleth wants to keep close to the ones who have yet to go out on the field. There are enough pillars for these outliers to hide behind should they, in fact, face enemies down there. But it’s also the most open space which will give both herself and Claude a clear view of the weaker students.

When no one protests on the arrangements, Claude picks up from where she left off. “The notes scribbled on the side says some of these tiles are enchanted. Here,” he drags his finger to the columns and rows on the left side of the map, “here,” he circles tiles at the center of the room near the dais, “and here,” he ends, pointing to the right, top and below.

“Are they traps?” asks Ashe. “It’d make sense to have them in a place like this.”

“True. But they’re more like magical aids of some kind. I don’t know what these symbols mean, but one of them looks like the magic runes for healing and a ward spell. I get the feeling it’s there for whoever tries to defend the casket from invaders.”

“Should our enemies figure it out, however,” Byleth cuts in, “try to deal with them quickly. We’ll use these tiles to our advantage, and if we can’t, we’ll have to knock away whoever is preventing that.”

Looking to her whole class, she pauses. When all eyes are on her, she speaks again in a gentler tone. “I don’t need to remind anyone, I’m sure, but, I feel like I must say it anyway. Ever since our first mission in Zanado, it’s been required that we take lives. You might have to do it again today. These people—whoever they are—want to harm Lady Rhea, and possibly other residents of the monastery. They won’t hesitate to kill a bunch of kids, so we can’t let that happen. If you want to back out, you may.”

No one says anything. While some do look away, they remain quiet. A few of her students even give her affirmative nods of understanding. “Very well. Then these are the formations we’re going to go in.”

She rolls up the map and secures it with a wax seal again to return to Seteth. As her class picks up their things to leave, she jumps in, “Oh, before I dismiss you all, I was hoping you could take this.” Byleth hands out her survey as she walks over to every person. “It’s an evaluation form. For my own records. I want to know how I’m doing so far as your instructor. Like, if I need to improve somewhere, or you disagree with an approach I take. It’d be very helpful to me.”

While everyone gives some kind of comment about her not needing to worry, she still insists they take it. “You can leave once you hand it back to me. And it’s anonymous; no need to write your name on there.”

Byleth watches them all sit back in their seats as they go through the survey, scribbling answers with their quills under each question, or filling out tick boxes she drew. One by one they hand it in with a smile, although some of her students avoid her eyes. She tries not to think too much about those looks; she’ll have a chance to worry later when she reads these after tonight.

Right now their focus is to guard the Holy Mausoleum, and prevent grave robbers from causing a ruckus.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


When Claude gets to the cathedral later that day, most people are flowing out of the building. Rhea has already gone down to the Holy Mausoleum with a group of the devout. But the plan is to wait until she’s finished and then sneak in with the rest of the public.

Ignatz is the only person from class that he spots easily. The younger boy is looking up at the dome of the ceiling, smiling as he admires the highly detailed religious paintings illuminated by the clerestory windows. He has his bow strapped around his back and an iron sword at his hip, perhaps taking Byleth’s advice to heart in being efficient with a melee weapon. He closes his eyes, smile growing just a bit wider.

_Now what could he be so happy about? Maybe he’s praying?_

He stands right beside him, watching the passersby greet each other or make plans for the dinner later that evening. When Ignatz is done… whatever he had been doing, he yelps and jumps when he sees Claude.

A hand to his chest, Ignatz asks, “C-Claude! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Grinning, he replies, “You were praying, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Rude if I did.”

“Well, thanks for the sentiment,” he sighs, shoulders slouching in relief, “but I wasn’t praying. The sermon from Lady Rhea had me thinking about the goddess, is all.”

“Is that so? Fascinating! Please,” he gestures to him with a flick of his hand, “do go on.”

“N-Not here!”

“And why not? You wouldn’t be,” he fakes a gasp, “be having _inappropriate_ thoughts about her divine holiness, would you?”

The boy’s face grows pink, and he fervently shakes his head. “Never, no!” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I was just imagining how she might look, based on the holy scriptures and myths and things. Like, look up there.”

Ignatz points to the ceiling of the dome. A fresco depicts what appears to be the goddess with her arms outstretched as she hovers above the land, a benevolent smile on her lips. Long and straight, verdant green hair cascades down her shoulders, flowers nestled in her locks in the formation of a crown. The drapery of her robes flows around her form, and feathery white wings sprout from her back as a radiant halo shines behind her head.

“That’s one interpretation of how she might’ve appeared,” Ignatz guesses. “But there really isn’t a clear description of her anywhere. Just a bunch of theories. But, she had to have been remarkably beautiful if crowds parted wherever she walked.”

“Makes sense.” Claude crosses his arms as he continues to look up at the painting. “People do like beautiful things. Maybe that was the church’s way of raking in more followers. Distracting them with such a gorgeous woman as the omnipresent absolute while any of the more soiled aspects of the whole establishment were quietly swept under the rug somewhere.”

Ignatz looks scandalized, wide-eyed and mouth agape, when Claude turns his attention back to him. “D-Don’t put words in my mouth!” He tugs on his sleeve. “And watch what you’re saying, especially in a place like this, surrounded by believers!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “Just thinking out loud.”

With a deep sigh, Ignatz says, “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it.” Oh, no. Claude knew exactly what he just said, and meant every word. But his fellow classmate doesn’t need to know that. “Anyway, that’s what I was doing: wondering about how she might’ve looked. Those are the kind of things I like to think about sometimes.”

“I can relate with such active curiosity,” Claude offers. “If you asked me, I figure she must’ve looked a lot like us, don’t you think? If she exists. People wouldn’t be as motivated on being devout to a being that looks something like, an animal, or even a strange amalgamation of a creature. Right?”

“That’s true….”

Nodding, he adds, “Then it only makes sense the goddess would look like a human. For all we know, she could’ve looked like…,” he taps his chin, glancing around the room, pointing to a group of elderly, “that old lady over there.”

He almost laughs when Ignatz gives a small gasp after following his line of sight. The guy looks mildly offended when he says, “What?! No, Claude, please stop! That is not at all how I imagine the goddess! My version is young and breathtaking!”

Claude tuts, clicking his tongue. “How rude of you, Ignatz! I’m sure that old woman was lovely back in her day. Now who needs to keep his thoughts to himself?” While he is half-teasing, he also does think it’s kind of crummy to outright call someone unattractive for no reason. All eyes are different, after all.

“S-Sorry, you’re right,” Ignatz apologies in a quiet voice as he hangs his head.

“I’m just messing with you; don’t worry,” he assures, patting him on the shoulder. “But maybe at one point, the goddess did make herself look like an old woman to hide among humans so she wouldn’t attract attention. Maybe her standard appearance is how you imagine her.”

He seems to perk up a little at that, lifting his head and giving a small smile. “That could’ve happened, yeah.”

“Right. And hey, I understand. If I had the chance to meet the goddess, I absolutely would. Especially your version of her. A real looker, ain’t that right?” he asks with a grin, nudging his elbow against the boy’s side.

Cheeks growing pink again, Ignatz quickly defends, “Th-That’s a disrespectful way of putting it. I just think she’s a divine beauty. She’d have to be, considering how she mesmerized the people of Fódlan no matter where she went.”

“Too true,” he agrees, nodding. “No doubt an incomparable beauty, that one.”

He still doesn’t see any of his other classmates nearby, but he does spot a familiar head of teal hair near the main entrance to the cathedral. Byleth is there speaking with a few others from their class, including Lysithea and Ashe. Much like Claude and his bespectacled companion, they’re dressed in their combat uniforms.

Inside the cathedral, it’s becoming steadily darker as the sun sets. The people standing near the doorway are little more than shadows from the harsh sunlight, but Byleth’s hair is an exception, teal locks shining against the orange rays reflected off the nearby walls and outside floors. Warm tones blend into the shadows surrounding her, outlining the surfaces of her form in radiant blushes of peach.

“Say, Ignatz,” he starts, without turning to him, “who do you think is lovelier? The goddess, or our own Teach?”

Sputtering at the sudden question, Ignatz shakes his head at him, giving a mild scowl. “Again, you can’t go around saying things like that, Claude! We’re gonna get in trouble if someone overhears! How am I even supposed to answer?!”

“Just an honest, curious question.” He shrugs, now looking at him. “People are always saying how attractive Teach is, both students and the younger knights. C’mon, that’s the whole reason why Sylvain joined our class. I mean, look at her.”

He nods her way. Byleth is still speaking with other people, although this time she’s leaning her weight on one foot as she stands in profile from where Claude currently is. Some of those around her are smiling wide. The faint tint of color on Ashe’s cheeks as he happily chats with her says volumes.

“Every painting that’s ever been made has had some inspiration for the human figures in them. Who’s to say one day, someone will decide Teach is the perfect model to depict a divine?” A thought he hadn’t meant to say out loud, for once, but it’s too late to take it back. Maybe Ignatz won’t think anything of it.

He should’ve used different wording, but it’s fine. Because it doesn’t mean anything. Just… an observation. Unbiased. Factual.

Absolutely.

“This is such a weird question,” Ignatz comments, sounding defeated with a heavy breath. He pushes the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “And it’d be improper of me to give an answer. She’s our professor. We can’t all be as candid as Sylvain—nor do some of us _want_ to be like that.”

“But like, as an observation, it’s plausible, right? Not to you personally, but like, as a fact to be said about her. You’re an artist; you have an eye for beauty after all.”

“I mean,” he shrugs, shaking his head in tandem, “I suppose? I never gave it much thought, honestly. Everyone has their own definition of what is or isn’t beautiful.” Ignatz studies his face, expression slowly morphing into one of curiosity as an eyebrow begins to quirk upward. “Claude,” he leans in ever so slightly, tilting his head to the side just a tad, “what made you ask me this? Do _you_ personally think the professor is—?”

“Hey, Teach!” he shouts, waving her down, because no he’s not going to answer a question that doesn’t need answering. Immediately Ignatz jumps to attention, smoothing out the creases of his battle tunic. He makes a comment about not shouting in the cathedral, as other people are casting them disdainful glances. “Over here!”

Byleth sees them and escorts those from the class their way. Ignatz is then distracted by the others chatting him up and talking about the sermon or the mission. But the first thing she tells Claude is, “Don’t yell in the cathedral.”

“My bad,” he says lightly. “Just wasn’t sure if you spotted me from all the way over there.”

“I got caught up chatting, but I’m here now. Are you feeling well enough for this assignment? You can sit out; I’d understand.”

“And miss visiting the you-know-what? Absolutely not.” He plants his hands on his hips. “We worked hard finding evidence and clues; I’m helping to foil this alleged plot after all the effort we went through.”

Byleth studies his face, unblinking. Until now, he’s never noticed how long her eyelashes are. They form a little swish of a curve at the end of her eyes, making any gaze of hers appear softer somehow. She tilts her head a bit, eyes still focused on his own.

“Claude, are you sure you’re alright?” she asks.

_Focus_,_ Riegan_, he tells himself as he shakes his head lightly and blinks. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Once this day is over, I’ll rest up if you’re that concerned. Promise.”

Ignatz is staring at him from beside his place next to Raphael. Claude ignores him, choosing to start up a chat with Hilda instead.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth does a head count of her whole class. Everyone is present, and whether on purpose or subconsciously, they’re already in little clusters of their assigned formations. It sparks a tiny ember in her chest, and she finds herself standing up straighter.

“Professor!” Flayn shouts, bounding over to them as she waves. Seteth isn’t too far behind, reprimanding his younger sister about proper manners in the cathedral. “It is good to see you again, and your class! My brother has told me you will be helping with the security for today’s rite after all.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because Claude was recovering in the infirmary for two days. How horrible to continuously be lurching one’s meal.” She frowns, turning to the young lord. “How are you feeling by the way? I hope you are no longer ill. Poisons and the like can be very malevolent.”

“I’m just peachy, thanks,” he replies with a wink. “But maybe don’t go around telling people I kept barfing. Puke isn’t what I want people to think of when they hear my name. Not a very flattering image.”

Flayn giggles, and says she’s glad he’s doing better. Seteth finally catches up to them and makes a redundant comment about Flayn running indoors when she shouldn’t. He looks to Byleth and her class, nodding as he holds his hands behind his back in that Seteth-like way of his.

“Glad to see you are all attending,” he starts. “The sermon in the mausoleum should be finishing up by now. Then Lady Rhea, Flayn, and I shall be heading toward the Goddess Tower for the remainder of the rite. Please do your _absolute_ best on this assignment. There can be no errors whatsoever, Professor.”

Huffing, Flayn says to Byleth, “My brother can be a bit… harsh with his words. Did you know? As we were making our way over here, he said that you and your class would be better off patrolling a boulder,” she ends with a giggle. “Imagine that! Looking so serious as you guard a rock!”

Seteth covers his mouth with a fist, clearing his throat. “That was… said in jest Flayn. And in _confidence_,” he remarks under his breath. “Please just remain by my side and do not cause any more trouble.”

Exasperated, he turns to Byleth again. “Professor, you know what you must do. We shall meet again after the rite,” and then he and Flayn exit the door to the left where Rhea is already waiting. Shamir is close by, acknowledging Byleth’s presence with a nod.

“Seteth is waaay over protective,” comments Hilda as she watches them leave. “He reminds me of my brother, ugh.”

“Flayn might be the only family he has,” Byleth suggests. “I don’t agree he should keep her so close, but it could explain it.”

“Maybe, but she could use a break from him, honestly. I know I definitely need a break from mine, always.”

“Teach,” Claude taps her on the arm, “we better get to the mausoleum before all the spots are taken. They only let a few people in, remember.”

“Right. Let’s get going then.”

A few times they get odd looks from others as they enter the chamber, perhaps because of the weapons at their hips or on their backs. The staircase down to the mausoleum isn’t too long, and Byleth discreetly points out to Claude places they can hide in the alcoves hidden by pillars. This chamber is dark enough that their faces aren’t recognizable, maybe not even to the knights patrolling the small crowd.

While visitors follow their guard to the casket at the furthest end of the room, Byleth instructs her class to hide behind the wide girth of the pillars or huddle themselves in the alcoves between the thinner ones. She reminds them they need to be patient and to not make a sound.

She’s impressed at how quiet everyone is as they bide their time in the shadows. The knights haven’t seemed to notice their absence. When one of them calls for the time being expired, the small crowd is escorted back up the staircase.

Oddly enough, a few of the knights remain behind. Mostly mages, but some foot soldiers as well.

_I thought we were the only ones supposed to be guarding this chamber._

Claude apparently notices, since he lightly nudges her with his elbow and mouths the same thing. Byleth shrugs, and signals for everyone to wait until they hear the heavy doors close. Once the shut echoes throughout the room, her class quietly slips out of their hiding places and regroups.

The knights gather at the large dais where the enormous casket is lit under several bright torches. Some of the mages have that same bird mask like the one employed under Lonato.

“I am having confusion,” starts Petra. “Why are there still knights here?”

“Because we just found our infiltrators,” answers Lysithea. “They must’ve been posing as knights this whole time. Most of them are long-range magic users from the looks of things. Did you still want to use the formations we have, Professor?”

“Yes,” she says with a nod. One of the mages starts a spell on the casket, but a glowing rune pushes him back. He tries again with a different incantation, and a part of the rune cracks. “Mages can’t be too far from their targets; otherwise the latter will see the spell coming and have time to dodge it. They still have to be close enough for the spell not to fizzle out by the time it reaches their enemy as well.”

There’s a beam of red magic that descends upon the center of the room, just beneath the staircase to the dais. Once it clears, a very large and imposing knight clad in black armor sits atop their horse. The cavalier’s helmet is shaped like a skull, and red eyes glow from the sockets.

Byleth sucks in a breath as the eyes bore directly into hers, even from this wide of a distance.

“You fools,” a distorted masculine voice bellows. The knight turns his horse to the mages. “You were not discreet like we had planned. Mice have entered the chamber.”

Some of the mages gasp upon noticing Byleth and her class, weapons already drawn. The enemies scatter down the dais on all sides, with only one mage remaining in front of the casket. The one who is still trying to break the seal. Maybe he’s the leader.

“Death Knight!” he calls as the rune appears again. “Get rid of them!”

“I do not take orders from the likes of you _or_ waste my time with weaklings. You have caused this mess, and so you will be the one to clean it up. I am only here to make sure you do what you have been tasked with.”

Claude shakes his head slowly as he stares at the squabble. “Well shoot. I’m getting a really bad vibe from that guy.” Looking to his classmates, he says, “No one go near the evil-looking knight, okay?”

“Like any one of us _wants_ to,” Hilda retorts. “Professor, should we still…?”

“Yes, we have to. Just keep to your formations and have each other’s backs.” She grips her sword in front of her as the mages run to them, hands already glowing with a magic spell. “They’re coming. Everyone, to your positions!”

Her class scatters in their assigned teams, and Byleth charges forward to meet the nearest mage. She dodges his spell with a twirl and slices upward along his torso. He shouts as he falls, blood seeping from his wound.

An arrow flits by her ear and lands in the chest of another mage to her right, killing him where he stands. When she looks back, Claude already has a second arrow notched in his bow. “I gotcha, Teach,” but he curses under his breath when a classmate near him gets hit in the arm with a fire spell, and Claude releases the arrow to the assaulting mage. One of the other students hurriedly approaches their injured friend and casts healing magic over the wound.

_They really aren’t ready_, Byleth laments. She slashes down another mage that tries to target a lance-wielding student on her left. He apologizes to her for not paying attention, but she says it’s fine. Just to stay behind her and watch her blind spot.

Whether by chance or by design, the highest amount of mages are scurrying in the side aisles instead of the central one. (Maybe they’re all afraid of this Death Knight, despite apparently being their cohort.) Group A and B have advanced further down to meet them. She hears their shouts and exclamations as they dodge or get grazed with an attack, but manage to take down their assailants with a slash or strike of their weapon, or a blast of their magic.

Like she had suspected, some of the enemies are standing over the enchanted tiles. Her students on the side aisles step into them as they rally each other to knock the mages off their feet or directly end their miserable lives. Though they have injuries, the healing magic veils them in a soft green light, and any magic attacks from the remaining mages fizzle out by the time they reach the enchanted areas of the floor.

_My two other groups are doing fine. I shouldn’t get distracted worrying about them, but should instead focus on—_

A girl screams as she falls back from a Nosferatu spell thrown at her by an enemy mage. Her sword slips out of her hand and clatters on the ground. Byleth is too far away and damn why didn’t she bring a bow with her? Why hasn’t she yet taught her other students archery? Why hasn’t she taught all of them basic healing magic either?

Claude jumps in from the side with another quick shot of his bow. It strikes the mage in the arm, turning his attention to him, and that’s all the cue the girl needs to scramble for her sword and shove it in the man’s side. He falls immediately once she yanks out the sword and blood pours from his wound, staining his robes a deep red.

She stares at her sword as blood creeps down the shiny metal, and gives a sob. Tears drip down her eyes as her lip quivers, but she keeps moving onward, jumping behind a pillar before another spell hits her. Her combat uniform is charred from the magic, and she holds her side as she takes deep, heaving breaths, trying to settle her nerves.

Byleth slashes through the enemy ranks, and only her long range students manage to kill the ones she misses. A foot soldier protecting the dais has a small battalion with him, and she clicks her tongue at the sight. Maybe she should’ve listened earlier to Jeritza about her students learning to command one. She knows in her gut they’ll have to go out in the field again, and—if her suspicions are correct—she might be down a handful of students by the time this day is over.

Not everyone is born to kill. And not everyone can face their own mortality. The students that are a safe distance from her, quaking in their boots or staying put behind the pillars, tells her all she needs to know about what she’ll have to do afterward.

_I’ve failed them. I really, really have._

But now isn’t the time to ruminate over these things. She won’t entirely fail them if she can keep them all alive by tonight. And that’s the least she can do as an apology.

The Death Knight stares at her as she rushes past him, but he keeps true to his word about not bothering to attack them. She can feel his eyes on her as she leaps away from another magic blast. A fire spell this time. Byleth tells her lance-wielding student to go around the man from the right while she closes in from the left. Another student with her bow keeps steady when Byleth instructs to aim at the mage.

He catches on, apparently, taking tentative steps backward as his head darts from between the three, not sure where to aim his spell. Maybe he considers Byleth a bigger threat because he then lobs the Miasma orb at her, only to choke on his own blood as the archer fells him in the chest at the same time the lancer stabs his side. Byleth ducks beneath the orb and slides across the weathered tiles to her two students.

“Good job, to both of you,” she compliments as they stare at their kill. “You had my back.”

“W-We had to, Professor,” the boy says. “But I…”

“And what about them?” the girl quietly asks, pointing to the battalion up ahead. “There’s so many of them….”

Yet they’re the last enemies standing between her and the mage leader who is still trying to break the magical seal. Groups A and B run toward her, having dealt with their own enemies. None of her students are unscathed; some have torn clothing or bleeding, benign lacerations, while others are bruised but still standing.

“We took care of them Professor,” Raphael says, “just like you asked.” His gauntlets are bloody, as is the axe strapped to his waist. There’s a burn mark on his right arm that’s healed, and she’s positive it’s thanks to Lysithea’s white magic.

It was a good idea to have at least one healer on each team. Marianne has a bit of frost covering her fingers, and when Byleth looks over to the left aisle, she can see one of the corpses covered in ice. In retrospect, her urging Marianne to take on a more offensive magic training was for the best. A healer can’t be totally defenseless, especially if they’re the only one on a team.

Lysithea, Marianne, and two others do their best to heal the wounds of anyone with more than a minor cut or bruise. Claude himself has his left forearm healed from a small blast of dark magic. As Lysithea hovers her hand over the afflicted area, the black stains from the injury slowly disappear, and he sighs in relief.

“Thank you, Raphael,” Byleth says. “And I’m glad to see all of you are mostly unharmed.”

“Yes, however,” Lorenz looks to the Death Knight, “are you certain we should leave him unattended? While he has remained still this entire time, I don’t like that he is eyeing us so carefully.”

“But he didn’t come to the aid of his allies,” Ashe points out. “Not even as so many of them were dying.”

“Perhaps because he doesn’t serve these people specifically,” suggests Sylvain. “He did say he was only here to make sure these guys did their job.”

Claude hums in agreement. “Which will happen if we don’t stop _that_ guy over there,” he says with a nod to the mage working through the rune. “And we can’t get there until the last of the bunch is dealt with.”

Ignatz shakes his head as he look onward to the battalion. “That’s a lot of them, though. Can we take them on all by ourselves?”

“Do we have a choice?” Leonie huffs. “I want these guys gone. Professor, are we gonna move in or not?”

“Yes. Stick to your groups and dismantle the battalion. A lot of them aren’t mages, so it shouldn’t be as difficult to get close to them. Let’s press onward.”

Her own class is like its own mini battalion, she finds, as the enemy starts to go down one by one. A part of it is perhaps the surprise—and frustration—that a bunch of kids and their kid professor have nearly torn through all of their defenses. Byleth aims for the battalion leader, clashing swords with him. He’s a bit sloppy, and paying too much attention to his allies’ deaths around him, that she’s able to strike him across the chest with a turn on her heel. He falls back, sword clattering on the ground.

A few blasts of magic and whirling of arrows more, and the rest of his men are gone as well.

The mage shouts in surprise when the magic seal finally breaks before cursing loudly when he realizes he’s the only man standing. But then he yells at someone far behind the Death Knight. A chill comes over Byleth when she sees three more mages and their own battalions creeping down the stairway entrance.

“Crap,” and at first she thinks she’s the one who spoke aloud until she sees Claude beside her.

“Yeah, I know. But we need to kill this guy first. I can only assume he’ll warp away with whatever is in the casket if he’s not stopped.”

Nodding, Claude suggests, “I’ll go over a plan with the others. Can you handle that guy by yourself, Teach?”

“I can, and I will. But I don’t want anyone straying from this dais until I’m done.”

“Got it.”

She leaves him to his own plan while she rushes ahead at the mage. He hurriedly stumbles to the casket and struggles to get the lid off until it slides askew. Half of his body clambers over it, but he pauses for a minute and quite audibly shouts, “What the _hell _is this?”

When he gets back on his feet, he’s holding a sword. And Byleth can’t help but freeze, sucking in a breath.

The sword in his hand is the same one she had seen in her dreams. The one brandished by the bloodied bearded man in dark armor.

Her feet move on their own accord. She doesn’t know why she’s in such a rush now, why she feels the sword is humming to her. But it’s tugging her forward, her own iron sword ready to thrust into the mage who is cluelessly swinging it.

And it’s almost too easy to disarm him. The sword hits the ground and Byleth sheaths her metal one. Slowly, she lifts it up by the hilt, examining the strange ridges and the dusty yellow of its blade. The material looks too much like that of Thunderbrand’s, and she has to wonder if there’s some sort of connection.

Byleth holds the hilt with both hands, steading it in front of her. The mage lobs a large orb concentrated with magic at her, but she easily slices through it. She charges forward again as he puts up a glimmering barrier. Slowly the sword’s blade slices through it—and it feels a lot like trying to carve through stone; magic is indeed terrifying—and the mage starts to fold against the weight of her force.

Then the shield shatters into millions of particles. Byleth doesn’t pause to give him a chance to recover. Diagonally she slices at his body and blood splatters from his open wound. He gives a choked scream as he falls to the floor, a pool of blood quickly flourishing from underneath his fresh carapace.

She stares at the splotches of crimson on the blade. Gently she taps one of the extendable pieces, and with eerie realization, she recognizes its texture as that of bone. The sword glows faintly in a warm orange hue, lightly humming again. It’s then she notices the gaping hole between the wyvern-like wings decorating the cross-guard.

_Something is supposed to go here. I don’t know what, but, I can… feel it._

There’s shouting in the distance, and she turns with a start to find the familiar glow of Thunderbrand among the dim atmosphere at the other end of the mausoleum. Catherine and her own soldiers overwhelm the mage reinforcements at the mouth of the staircase, but the three battalion leaders are left alive, if somewhat injured.

“I suppose this mission was not a complete loss,” the Death Knight bellows again. The piercing red of his glowing eyes bores a sharp focus on Byleth. “Until we meet again, Woman,” and then he’s gone, absconding with another bright ray of crimson magic.

Claude groans his frustration. “That jerk got away. We can’t even follow him with that kind of exit. But Catherine and the knights got here just in the nick of time.”

As he turns to Byleth, his relieved expression slowly morphs into complete surprise. Wide eyes gander up and down at the strange sword in her hand. Carefully he steps closer, still staring at it, mouth slightly agape. He’s quiet for maybe a solid minute, but that silence seems to drag on for an hour to her.

“Professor,” he starts, finally looking at her again. He’s never called her that. Ever. And she doesn’t like how the uncertainty in his voice sounds, “where… did you get that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Ignatz and Claude's B support, there's a difference depending on which Byleth you play as. If you play as female Byleth, extra dialogue will be added: Claude asks him if he thinks she's lovelier than the goddess, and Ignatz will become scandalized. But these lines don't exist if you play as male Byleth. I thought it was a curious little addition that didn't need to be there, but the developers put it in anyway. Which can only mean, canonically, Claude thinks Byleth is hot. LOL (He's not wrong.)
> 
> Claude's affection for Byleth isn't as blatant as Edelgard's or Dimitri's in my opinion. If you choose to read it in a romantic context, anyway. But it's these subtle little things that I really appreciate. That steady growth is something I really like; makes his character seem more believable (not that the other two aren't). Considering their respective routes, I also like to think it took him the longest out of the three Lords to realize he has feelings for her. Mainly because of how his past shaped him into the person he is during the present story.
> 
> And with this chapter, now we're getting into true friendship development territory. The nitty-gritty. As much as I adore Claudeleth's platonic and romantic dynamic, I think it's unrealistic that they would get along swimmingly all the time in the early stages, for many character and plot-related reasons. I'm going to explore this conflict to the best of my ability, so I hope everyone ends up satisfied with how it develops!
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	23. XXIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> After Byleth and Claude meet with Seteth about their suspicion, he reluctantly allows them to guard the Holy Mausoleum. Later, Claude chats with Ignatz in the cathedral while they wait for the rest of their class to show up. He finds out Ignatz is smitten with the goddess, and so, teases him about it. Claude asks him if he thinks Byleth is lovelier than the her, and a curious Ignatz questions why he asked that at all. Claude doesn't know, and doesn't want to think about it either. When they're down in the mausoleum, they find out their hunch was right. They also meet a mysterious cavalier by the moniker of Death Knight. Though he doesn't attack them, weirdly enough. Byleth dispatches her students into their assigned formations to take out the enemy, but realizes the group she's leading is very inexperienced, and it's her fault. When she manages to take out the enemy leader, she discovers a strange sword. It looks exactly like the one in her dreams. When it glows in her hand, she can't even imagine what this will now mean for her.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXIII ⧽  
  
A Real Conundrum

Catherine told Byleth to take her class to the infirmary while she and her knights dealt with the arrests of the infiltrators. Apparently while they were fighting in the mausoleum, other assailants up above really did try to assassinate Rhea while she had been in the Goddess Tower. A bunch of snipers kept trying to take her out with bows, but were killed by pegasus and wyvern knights doing nimble aerial maneuvers to avoid being shot themselves. That gave Rhea time to escape with Seteth and Flayn. All the knights up above managed to keep the visitors and students safe, in addition to apprehending all the surviving assassins.

“What do I do with this?” Byleth had asked Catherine, showing her the sword.

The woman’s eyes widened as the weapon glowed a faint orange. Surprise stunned her from speaking for a good several moments. “For now, I’ll hold onto it and take it to Lady Rhea. No doubt she’ll want to have a word with you about this.”

Reluctantly, Byleth had given her the sword. Her students’ health was a more pressing concern.

But just as she was escorting her class to the infirmary, Shamir stopped them and told them to rest in the reception hall instead. Apparently the infirmary was at full capacity because of the attack; auxiliary healers were doing their best to make the reception hall a temporary extension of reprieve.

So now here she is, waiting with her students while everyone is properly healed. Though none of them died, those with less combat experience are still shaken. Some stare off into nothing. Others are sobbing about taking their first life. Her more advanced students try to console them, but it doesn’t seem to help all that much.

“Professor.”

Shamir walks up to her as she rests at one of the tables. Being the least damaged by the attacks, Byleth only needed minor healing. But she could’ve saved these extra nuns and priests time if she herself knew healing magic. Once things settle down, she’ll have to ask Manuela to teach her.

“Hello, Shamir. How are things with Lady Rhea?”

“She’s unharmed, thankfully. Your class taking up the burden of protecting the mausoleum allowed more knights to guard the archbishop, and so she was escorted to safety unscathed.”

“I’m relieved that she’s safe.”

Nodding, Shamir says, “Yes, and she’s well enough that she’d like to have an audience with you and the house leader.”

Claude is at another table having his arm looked at by a nun, just to make sure the dark magic is completely gone. Petra is sitting next to him chatting as her own leg is wrapped with a bandage from a healing cut. She makes a comment and he gives a short laugh, nodding along. Byleth wonders what they’re talking about.

Until now, he hasn’t smiled ever since he saw that sword in Byleth’s grip. And every time she caught him looking at her, it was at the weapon, specifically. When she had handed over the sword to Catherine, he opened his mouth to protest, but it died on his tongue for whatever reason. Then he cast Byleth a curious glance, expression neutral, and said nothing.

“Okay. I guess we can go then.”

Shamir leaves, expecting her in the audience chamber in five minutes. Byleth goes around to her students and tells them to meet her back at the classroom. They can pick up their dinner and eat in there. She hands Ignatz the key, entrusting him with its safety.

Claude follows her when she asks him to. He doesn’t reply with anything except a nod. Quietness wedges between them as they head up the staircase to the second floor, and she’s not sure how to break it. She’s not even sure why he’s so quiet in the first place.

Guards stationed at the door let them in. Shamir is the only one to immediately notice their entry, and with a hand, signals them to halt at one of the pillars. She’s standing next to Rhea and Seteth, the latter looking furious while the former gazes upon the accused with a cold countenance.

The surviving mages from the assault are forced on their knees in front of them, hands tied behind their backs. Knights keep watch over the three men. They look battered, no doubt Catherine’s doing.

“—and the extent of the damage which you have caused,” Seteth continues. Byleth and Claude must’ve come at a bad time, “alongside instilling fear within the visitors of today, cannot be forgiven. It is a complete breach of faith. The archbishop will now pass her judgement.”

Rhea closes her eyes for a moment. Slowly she opens them, hard stare still upon their regrettable faces. “Shamir, please state the crimes to which they are responsible for.”

“Inciting a Kingdom noble to rebel,” wait, what? Are they talking about Lonato? “unlawful entry into several areas of the monastery, the attempted assassination of the archbishop, an attack on the Holy Mausoleum, threatening the well-being of all who were in the compound today, and attempted theft of holy artifacts. These are the crimes you are charged with, followers of the Western Church.”

The men begin to protest, but Seteth tells them it’s futile, as they have already been identified via thorough investigation.

“On top of this extensive list of crimes,” Rhea starts, “you have also perversely dishonored a holy ceremony. For a member of the church, such a thing is worthy of death. You are well past any hopes of redemption. If you have any semblance of grace remaining, you will willingly offer your life as atonement for your crimes. As such, you are to be executed at dawn.”

Clasping her hands together in a praying gesture, she hangs her head with closed eyes. “May your souls find peace as they return to the goddess.”

“This isn’t what we were told would happen!” one of the men shouts. “We’ve been deceived!”

Shamir gives him a glare. “Thought you said you weren’t associated with the Western Church.”

The man blanches, realizing his folly. “Wait, please! The goddess will never forgive you for our execution!”

Rhea’s face is impassive. “Are you suggesting the goddess will forgive you for my attempted assassination? For the danger you have brought to the visitors, students, and the clergy? For defiling a holy resting place? For killing others on what was supposed to be a day of celebration? Are all of these things supposed to be merely forgiven after you have exercised your free will to carry out such heinous acts of fear among the monastery’s population? What, then, would you suggest your punishment be, followers of the Western Church? As members of the cloth, you should know better than anyone else the weight of your sins that you have committed today.”

All of the men say nothing. Rhea hums in understanding, looking down at them from the bridge of her nose. The two men at the side hang their heads, staring hard at the floor. The one in the center scowls at her, eyes full of rage.

“Monster!” he spits at Rhea. “We know you’ve already slaughtered many of our fellow brethren like this!”

“This concludes the investigation,” she says calmly, without missing a beat. “Please remove these poor, lost souls from my sight.”

The trio of men are escorted out of the chamber by the knights, although the one in the center continues his rant on how atrocious Rhea is, kicking and screaming. That her head will be served on a platter to the goddess, and she will burn in the eternal flames. Rhea, in response, remains quiet, and doesn’t speak until the doors shut, leaving the room in an echo of silence.

“I am sorry you had to witness such a scene,” she says, still staring straight ahead, “Professor, Claude. Had I known that the timing of your audience would horribly coincide with what just transpired, I would have waited.” Then she finally looks at them with a gentle smile, as if what happened a few minutes ago was a figment of imagination. “Please, come forward.”

Claude is stiff beside Byleth as they approach. His expression is neutral as he stares at Rhea, his focus never leaving her face.

“There had been such a commotion after this plot,” the archbishop starts again, “and the necessity to heal the injured, that I have not been able to properly thank you both for what you did in the Holy Mausoleum. I do not want to think about what might have happened had they escaped with their discovery in the chamber.”

“You both did good work,” Shamir says. “Guess you didn’t need my help after all.”

“I do admit,” Seteth makes a pause, “that your hypothesis of the Holy Mausoleum being the real target was rather sound, as we all now know. I had doubts, but,” he gives a light, quiet sigh, “you are taking real precaution and responsibility in what you are tasked with. This entire day could have ended in a much more disastrous manner. However, it is thanks to you and your class being so proactive that we have avoided absolute tragedy, and got further insight into… the unease that has been happening since the skirmish with Lord Lonato.”

“The professor is a one-of-a-kind instructor,” Claude finally says. He’s using formalities again. No, no she doesn’t like this. This… pressure in her chest. “We couldn’t have done it without her.”

Rhea smiles wide, looking pleased. “I could not agree more. But one person cannot always achieve great feats on their own. After all, it is crucial that professor and house leader work in synchronization in order for the whole class to be successful. And by extension, the entire house. You have as much of my gratitude as the professor does, Claude.”

“Thank you,” he replies plainly.

“With that being said, I would like to speak with Professor Byleth alone for a moment. Please, go and enjoy the special dinner available in the dining hall. It was one of the areas not affected by this attack. You should rest with your classmates. All of you deserve it, and more.”

He doesn’t argue, simply gives a light bow before leaving. Rhea also excuses Shamir, and so she follows after Claude through the doors. Once the room is vacant with only Rhea, Seteth, and Byleth, the woman addresses her.

“Professor, I do not have the words to properly express how deep my gratitude runs. Not only did you protect a holy space, but you also secured a most priceless object.”

She goes to the dais and retrieves the strange sword from the seat situated there. Rhea holds it with both of her palms, gazing at it fondly. “It is a Hero’s Relic known as the Sword of the Creator. A holy artifact that Garreg Mach has protected for ages in secrecy. And while it is a precious treasure to us, it is also a weapon of terrifying power. There is no doubt in my mind that nefarious people who lurk in the shadows will continue to scavenge for it, no matter where it is hidden. And we cannot allow them to terrorize this monastery in their search.”

Holding out her arms, she says, “Therefore, I will entrust this sword to you, Byleth Eisner.”

Seteth’s eyes grow hilariously wide, and Byleth is sure she hears him suck in a harsh breath. “Lady Rhea, wait! You cannot be serious in entrusting something so powerful in the hands of this—this stranger! If someone like Nemesis were to appear again and take possession of it? The world would be consumed by chaos and war!”

“Who is Nemesis?”

Her question earns a sharp side-eye from Seteth, but Rhea remains calm. “Nemesis,” starts the man, “the King of Liberation. He was an ancient king of mankind who was defeated by Saint Seiros over one thousand years ago. It is said that when Fódlan was plagued by wicked gods, the goddess gifted the Sword of the Creator to him. That very one you are seeing before you.”

Could Nemesis have been the man she saw in that recurring dream? Byleth is absolutely sure this is the sword in it too. But in the dream, he didn’t look like any hero. His eyes were icy, and his wide grin dripped with malice. If he was once heralded as someone great, what happened to make him turn coat?

“Judging by your expression,” Seteth continues, “I suppose Jeralt never told you of this tale. I cannot fault him, for even today it is forgotten in everyday conversation. Nemesis used the sword to defeat the wicked gods and saved all of Fódlan; that is why he was called the King of Liberation. However…”

Of course there’s a ‘however’.

“…he became addicted to this divine power until he himself was no better than these wicked gods. Chaos once more swarmed the lands of Fódlan, now with a fearsome warrior at the helm. With all other options exhausted, Saint Seiros had no choice but to destroy him.”

He looks to Rhea, that hard stare still on his face. “And this is why I am befuddled to allowing her, of all people, to wield it. Lady Rhea, please, I beg you to reconsider. Given a little more time, we can accurately and thoroughly assess this stranger’s abilities. As we have seen today, just because someone is employed here at the monastery, that does not guarantee they are not lying in wait to commit something heinous.”

Rhea shakes her head. “No, Seteth. I have faith that our ally here, our friend, will not be corrupted by wickedness. Since the death of Nemesis, none have been able to wield the Sword of the Creator. Now, after all those centuries of being sealed away, it has returned and found a new master. Catherine’s report noted that the sword had glowed in Professor Byleth’s hand. And I, for one, am quite glad that it is her the sword chose to lend its power to.”

Closing his eyes, Seteth relents. “I… understand. As you wish, Lady Rhea.”

She smiles at Byleth. From her robes she pulls out a cloth and wraps it around the sword, then presents it to her. Carefully, Byleth takes it in her hands. The faint orange glow from before hums along the relic. Rhea smiles wider, and Seteth looks on with scrutiny.

“There you have it, Professor,” he says. “This weapon is a symbol of the amount of trust the archbishop has seen fit to bestow upon you. See to it that you do not break it.”

Whatever amount of progress she’s made to get Seteth to trust her has probably been shattered by now. She’ll have to keep trying to make him understand she doesn’t mean any harm. If she could, she’d tell him about her past. But she can’t, because she herself doesn’t know.

And it’s so damn frustrating that no one believes her.

Byleth is finally excused and wanders into the empty hallway. She stares at the wrapped sword in her hand. The orange light has faded, but she thinks she still feels a very slight vibration from it.

_The Sword of the Creator? The King of Liberation? Each tale is more confusing than the last! And I cannot read that Rhea woman at all. I must agree with Seteth on this one. While I know what you are capable of, Byleth, he is the only one acting with reasonable discretion toward someone still a mystery._

_It’s not like I’m trying to hide anything. I wish I knew more about myself too._

_I know, and I am not faulting you for something out of your control. This is just quite the conundrum. That sword is clearly precious, so why is Rhea so keen on gifting it to you? Would it not be in more danger out in the open?_

_I’m not gonna leave it lying around, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Besides, the sword chose me._

_Is that a fact? Do not be so silly, Byleth; now is not the time for levity. We have become entangled in a mystery, and I am concerned we risk asphyxiation because of it._

_Sothis, I promise I’ll keep the sword safe._

_And I believe you will do your absolute best try. But this… Sword of the Creator, somehow feels distinct compared to that other Relic we have seen. The one wielded by the swordswoman. Oh goodness, what was her name? Ca… Cat…_

_Catherine?_

_Yes, her! This sword is different than her Thunderbrand in one key way: it bears a hole, where something should have been, but is no more. And if I noticed—and I know you have noticed—then surely Rhea is also aware of this. Perhaps something goes there. It is an ancient weapon, so it is possible its other part is lost to history…._

_Maybe._

Sothis gives a huff that turns into a sharp groan.

_Ugh, I despise not knowing what is going on! It… It frightens me! More for your sake than my own. I cannot shake loose this aura of dread. And yet… I place my trust in you. I must._

_Like I said, I promise to keep the sword safe. Be more vigilant. Train harder. I’ll learn to wield it properly. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands either._

_I know, Byleth. Just promise me one thing: whatever comes to pass… please swear to cut a path that is your own._

Byleth nods._ I will, I swear._

_Thank you. For now, let us venture to the dining hall. At the moment, I do not want to ponder on future scenarios such as these. I will agree with Rhea on one thing: you deserve some rest. Go fetch yourself some sustenance and spend time with your students._

Oh, shoot. That’s right. Everyone is supposed to be gathered in the classroom. She hopes they all ate and weren’t waiting for her to dine with them. Byleth hurries down the stairs, the Sword of the Creator tucked securely in her arms.

As she rushes, she sees that flash of gold again. The one from her first visit to Hanneman’s office. But it’s probably just a torch light being lit, so she pays it no mind. She needs to make sure her students are alright. Additionally, there’s an uncomfortable conversation approaching about a few of the students’ performances today. But she’d rather they be guided by more experienced instructors than someone who knows little about herself beyond her own name.

There’s also the inevitable chat to be had about her having a Crest, and she supposes now is a good time as any to come clean about it. Owning the Sword of the Creator might put her students in more danger, especially the ones who aren’t as advanced.

She can’t take that risk, and she hopes they can at least forgive her for it.

Claude waits a few seconds before peeking around the corner. Byleth is gone, most likely heading back to the class, or getting some food.

What exactly was she doing just standing there in the middle of the hallway? For a good several minutes too. Was she thinking that hard? The little changes in her posture and the twitches of her face almost made it look like she was having a conversation. In her head. With herself.

She’d odd, for sure. Has been since they first met. But this? Even he couldn’t anticipate this.

He slightly regrets telling her the little he did about his past. It wasn’t enough for her to draw any concrete conclusions, so, he should still be fine. After today, maybe it’s better she thinks that he trusts her with bits of who he is. Get closer to her, the wielder of the myth.

All in all, definitely not a complete loss.

“I’ve finally found the Sword of the Creator,” he says to himself, “only for it to end up in her hands. Could I even use it?”

Probably not. His Crest isn’t compatible. He doesn’t know if the thing will backfire on him if he uses it for too long. But maybe if he asks nicely, or entices Byleth with some snacks, she’ll let him hold it. Although, knowing how serious she is, maybe she’ll hide it away until she needs to wield its power.

“Damn it. There’re too many unknown variables. I don’t even know what Crest is needed to wield that thing. Nemesis obviously had one if he could use it, but…”

The library didn’t have any books on the subject. And he doubts Hanneman would want to talk about it to just any student. But Claude isn’t the only one who likes to sneak around. He’s heard Linhardt stays up late in the library combing through all the shelves for his Crest research. And he’s been caught a few times loitering around the monastery’s vault, perhaps trying to ‘borrow’ one of the Relics, if they have any others.

He might be able to help Claude fill in the blanks. Or, he could persuade Byleth to recruit the drowsy mage to their class. It worked for Petra. Ashe also being his classmate is helpful to him specifically. He might’ve missed out on more plants suitable for poisons, otherwise.

Although, he’s almost positive Ashe is here partially because he has a puppy crush on Byleth.

_Guy kinda makes it obvious, although not as obvious as Sylvain. Well, that’s more like lust instead of a crush, but the feelings are parallel enough for me._

At least pieces of his plan are starting to fall together. It’s slow, but he’ll take steady progress over no progress any day.

Claude grabs his food from the dining hall and heads to the classroom. Everyone is already there. Byleth doesn’t have the sword on her, so she must’ve stowed it away in her room. Maybe she’s not sure how to break it to everyone that she has a Crest.

Did she even know about it? Or had she been hiding it this entire time? Only nobles have Crests. At least that’s what Claude learned upon first coming to Fódlan. Is she secretly a noble? Or maybe… a descendant of Nemesis?

And why did Rhea give her the sword? Relics aren’t to be handed out like candy. Come to think of it, Rhea’s pretty fond of her in general. And Claude hasn’t heard Byleth criticize her even once. Is she already that comfortable being a part of the church? She’ll likely be even more important now with this discovery.

Can someone like that, part of such a massive and sketchy establishment like this, really ever understand what he’s trying to do? For centuries, Fódlan has been so closed off and hesitant of the outside world that the masses take parts of the Seiros tenets out of context regarding those who don’t believe in the goddess.

He wonders if Rhea will instill these same misconceptions into her new favorite person.

_Who exactly are you, Byleth Eisner?_

Hilda is the first to notice him. “Dang, Claude. What took you so long? The professor already told us what happened!”

“That those mages and their cronies got the axe? Yeah, they did.”

Ignatz shivers. “I know we were killing some of them, but…”

“It is different to be thinking of execution,” Petra finishes. Ignatz mumbles his quiet confirmation. “Why would someone be wanting to attack a spiritual place? That is never a good idea.”

Lysithea shrugs. “Who knows, honestly. But Lady Rhea sounds… scary. She’s normally very kind and calm—almost motherly. But, in those rare moments, she can also be downright terrifying.”

“True,” agrees Sylvain, “although they _were_ trying to assassinate her. I don’t think anyone would take it well if they experienced being a victim of attempted murder.”

“Professor,” starts Marianne, “do you think their execution… was the will of the goddess?”

Byleth gives her a glance, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s not sure what to say. How would any of them know if this was what the supposed goddess wanted?

“If the Western Church was behind this,” Claude jumps in before Marianne can start blaming herself for something that isn’t her fault, “it’d make sense they’d want to kill the archbishop. That’d be the quickest way to weaken the Central Church’s influence.”

“I believe it,” Ashe says immediately. “These… These people… They used Lonato. Manipulated him into starting a rebellion and got him killed! That’s what Professor Byleth said—one of the crimes they were charged with. And then they go and try to murder Lady Rhea?”

He can understand the boy’s frustration. But Claude can’t shake the feeling that they’re missing some piece of the puzzle. He doesn’t doubt the Western Church has blame. But as to why they were targeting both Rhea and the Holy Mausoleum when they supposedly worship the same goddess—that’s the real question.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call this an upside, Ashe,” Claude starts, “but after our performance in guarding the chamber, I think we’ll most likely be dispatched to help solve this riddle of the Western Church. And since you’re in our class, maybe you’ll get some answers.”

Before Ashe can jump in with some hopeful questions, he quickly adds, “Although this is just my speculation, so take it with a grain of salt. For all we know, Lady Rhea might just send the Knights of Seiros to do it. But I have a feeling our class will also be strongly considered.”

And maybe Rhea _will_ send them out eventually. With the Sword of the Creator now in Byleth’s possession, maybe the archbishop would like to see how well she can wield it. She might have Catherine babysit them again if his hunch is right.

“No matter who goes,” Ashe says, “I’ll go too. I need… I need answers. I didn’t get them before, so I’ll just have to keep trying until I do.”

Byleth stares at him, then looks to the floor in thought. The rest of the class erupts into conversation about the strange occurrences so far this year, some of them mentioning things like this didn’t happen in previous years. One of them even suggests it might be an omen for something worse. That makes Marianne huddle in a corner to pray, and Ignatz’s panic to flare up.

In the midst of the dreaded discussion, they all fall silent when Byleth finally speaks. “No one is going to die, if that’s what you’re all concerned about. Because I can’t guide so many of you with the current skillset I have. So, some of you, I’m going to recommend you be transferred to another Golden Deer professor.”

That stunned silence follows her as she walks to the desk and pulls out a few transfer forms. As she stands in front of the class, she looks to each and every person. “I was keeping an eye on all of you during our fight in the Holy Mausoleum. Or at least, I tried to. I was going to wait until I read the evaluation forms from earlier. But, I don’t need to look over them to know I’ve failed some of you as an instructor.”

Slowly, she goes around the group and hands out transfer forms to a few of the students. The ones she and Claude were in charge of back down in the chamber. While the surprise and even sudden sadness on their expressions makes him feel kind of sympathetic, he can’t say he disagrees.

Byleth has come a long way since that first week of school. But he has to admit, she’s not a seasoned professional like Hanneman or Manuela, or any of the other teachers. Having a small class might be easier on her, especially now that she’ll need to practice using her Relic weapon.

The students who receive a form try to plead with her that they can do it, that they won’t falter next time, but she shakes her head. “Your safety is my priority, and I don’t think I did enough to prepare you for tonight—to prepare you for harder battles that we’re most likely going to face now. I can’t endanger you like that. So, please, take these forms, and have one of the other two Golden Deer professors sign them to allow you into their class.”

Seeing the deep frowns on their faces, she frowns as well. No, she actually looks… kind of sad. “I’m sorry for failing you. You deserve to live long lives, and I can’t guarantee that you will under my watch, all things considered.”

When the space remains silent, she suggests they go have the forms filled out now so they can resume their lessons tomorrow in their new class. With heavy footsteps, they trudge out of the room. The remaining students watch them leave until the door is shut once more.

“As for the rest of you,” Byleth crosses her arms, “you’re my more advanced students. I don’t know if it’s because you joined me on that first mission to Zanado, or because you came from another class so you already had a decent skill level, but, you’re more likely to survive any future missions I’ll be obligated to take my class on.”

She pauses. “However, if you want to leave, you may. I won’t be hurt; I want all of you to live long lives as well.”

Is she doing this because she thinks the sword will put her in danger? And by association, put the whole class in danger? What if all of them decide to leave? Not that they would; by their expressions alone, right in this moment, Claude knows what they’re going to say.

But if they had chosen to transfer out, that would leave only him and Byleth. Or maybe he’d be put into either Class B or C after being the sole student remaining. Is she really just going to take on this mystery threat by herself?

His plan is finally coming together, and losing the assets he miraculously has been able to put together so far would be bad. No, he won’t let it happen. Not when he’s made this quality of progress in such a short time. There’s no guarantee it’ll happen again if he’s back to square one.

And the thought of Byleth standing alone, facing the shadows of this threat, kind of doesn’t sit well with him.

“Teach, I’m not leaving.” He doesn’t miss that she perks up a little hearing him call her that again. Her shoulders relax, and her posture is straighter now. _She’s really grown used to that nickname, huh?_ “I don’t think any one of us standing in this room is leaving either.” Looking to all of them, they nod in agreement. Some slower to react than others, but positive affirmation all the same. “Well, there you have it. But, you need to be honest with us. Now, and in the future.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not an awful professor. And the other instructors will also have missions where their students will have to kill out in the field. So what’s the real reason why you dismissed a chunk of our class?”

She stays quiet for a minute, keeping her eyes on him. Then she gives a light, breathless sigh. “Do you all remember that weapon I recovered from the mage? Well, I learned it’s a Relic known as the Sword of the Creator. Thought to have been lost to history. And it… responded to me when I first held it.”

This time, the shock is palpable. Even Lorenz can’t help but stumble over his words as he tries to make sense of what she just said. “The Sword of the Creator?! Are you certain? Professor, you do know that one must have a Crest in order to wield a Relic weapon, correct? But you are a commoner!”

Leonie shakes her head at him. “You’re saying that like if there isn’t a possibility a Crest-bearing noble might’ve had an illegitimate kid and cast them away. For all you know, that kid might’ve been one of Jeralt’s descendants, or that of her mother’s. Don’t just go assuming things, Lorenz.”

“Except that wouldn’t have been possible,” Claude says. “Not the nobles having bastard children; I’m sure that happens a lot.” He ignores Lorenz’s offended exclamation of him having the audacity to suggest such a thing. “The only one who was ever able to wield that sword was the ancient king Nemesis. And from what I’ve heard, he never had any children, or relatives with a Crest.”

Meeting Byleth’s eyes, he says, “And yet, you’re able to wield it, which means you must have his Crest, Teach. Now, how did that happen?”

Before she can respond, there’s a knock on the door. Sylvain goes to answer it, and talks with the knight standing there. When he’s gone, he keeps the door open just a tad.

“Professor,” his expression is unreadable, “they said Hanneman is looking for you; to meet him in his office. And it’s urgent.”

She nods and excuses them, saying they can return to their rooms or head back to the dining hall. Nobody really ate all of their food, so a lot of it is probably cold now. Claude can’t blame them. He wouldn’t have an appetite either with what just happened.

Byleth leaves, and Sylvain watches her go. He’s as still as a statue, and it’s only when Lysithea asks for him to move does he come back around with a few blinks. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

When everyone has gone with their trays, Claude stays behind. Sylvain looks pensive, staring at the floor. “A bullion for your thoughts?”

“The professor has… a Crest.”

“Probably. Otherwise the sword wouldn’t have responded.”

“From the way she was talking, it sounded like she never even knew she had one.”

Claude can’t confirm or deny that, but he promises himself he’ll find out the truth. “Maybe. Who knows with her? She’s still kind of a mystery.”

“Yeah. A mystery.”

He’s not even looking at him. Just staring at the ground still. “Sylvain, buddy, you alright?”

Now he does meet Claude’s eyes, but he knows enough of his own habits to see the smile on Sylvain’s face is just part of a worn mask. “Of course. Just a little tired. I’m gonna go get some more food. Mine got kinda cold. You wanna join me?”

“Nah, I think I’ll head over to the library. Books to read, things to learn. It’ll be quiet with everyone stuffing their faces down here.”

“Alright. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Try not to say up too late.” He picks up his now cold food and gives Claude another friendly good bye. He doesn’t look back once he exits the room.

_What could’ve been bugging him, I wonder?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy March! Spring is just around the corner, and I can't wait for warmer weather because I'm sick of this cold. I'm a reptile. I need!! The sun!!
> 
> Well, hmm. I actually don't have much to say this time around. I figured out how to solve the issue with Byleth's NPC students here in this chapter, so I hope it made sense and transitioned to this point smoothly!
> 
> I wanted to share this since I didn't last time: here's another [fanart piece](https://twitter.com/powdermeow/status/1232016545263554560?s=20) by Cheriiu! It's of Kitty Claude, and it's really adorable! Thanks so much for drawing it! ;w; 💖He'll make a return soon enough. I already wrote the draft chapter for his next appearance. :3
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	24. XXIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and Claude are called to meet with Rhea, but arrive at a bad time: the death sentencing of the Western Church members. Rhea, as if nothing had just happened, thanks the two for protecting the Holy Mausoleum. When alone with Byleth, she bestows upon her the Sword of the Creator, much to Seteth's dismay. She also learns about Nemesis, the previous wielder. As she leaves, Claude spies on her, wondering why exactly she's been given this Relic. Back in the classroom, Byleth recommends the less advanced students switch classes. Even though she encourages her advanced pupils to do the same, no one else leaves. It's then she confesses the existence of her Crest, and her ability to wield the Sword of the Creator. Everyone is very confused, including Claude himself. But Sylvain is the most quiet about it. After Byleth is called away to meet with Hanneman, Claude asks him if he's alright. The smile he wears is one Claude knows all too well, and he can't help but wonder what's troubling his fellow Deer.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXIV ⧽  
  
The Flames Within

Byleth meets Hanneman in his office. His coat is torn at the edges, and she figures it was probably from his own battle with the intruders. But he doesn’t look any worse for wear. Instead he’s grinning wide, telling her that he’s finally figured out her Crest.

Apparently, the Sword of the Creator was the last piece of the puzzle he was missing. He explains as much as he frantically shows her all the notes he’s accrued over his research. Many diagrams and symbols she doesn’t recognize. A bunch of lines connecting theories and hypotheses. Several scribbles about the things Jeralt told her and Hanneman’s own validation of said facts.

“Your Crest is the rarest of them all!” he exclaims. “Professor Byleth, you are the sole bearer of the major Crest of Flames!”

“Is that the one Nemesis had?”

“Correct! It was a little difficult to find verification of it, but a dusty old book hidden away in the furthest stretch of the library finally gave me the last remaining pieces. I didn’t want to tell you until I was absolutely sure of it, but the Sword of the Creator responding to your touch tells me I was right!”

He chuckles, almost cheers. “Hanneman von Essar, you have done it again!” When he notices her staring, he clears his throat. The faintest color dusts his cheeks. “Pardon me. I should have minded my manners. I am a professional, and it’s uncouth of me to react the way I did.”

“Even so, you’ve made a big discovery. You’re allowed to be excited about it.” Although she doesn’t like being part of a test subject. But it helped her learn more about who she is, so she can’t really complain.

“Still, I should have revealed my findings to you in a much calmer manner. But, moving on. I’m sure Lady Rhea already told you that the Sword of the Creator holds immense power. It has been considered the strongest Relic weapon because of its capabilities. There aren’t too many records of witnessing its usage, but the few that remain say it has a long reach. Acts almost like a whip.”

Just like she saw in her dream. How is she supposed to activate this functionality? Does the Relic weapon instinctively know to extend when she wills it? Or does she have to wield it in a certain direction? And how would she retract it?

All these questions she asks Hanneman, but he tells her he doesn’t know. It’s something she’ll have to figure out on her own.

“Do not stress over it, Professor,” he comforts. “Catherine couldn’t properly use Thunderbrand for a while after she first obtained it. Relic weapons take practice to wield. It would be remiss of me to not also tell you that they do gradually put a strain on your body if you use them too often in succession. Such is the price to pay for that kind of power, I suppose.”

He goes on to explain it shouldn’t be too much of a problem for her, however. The Crest of Flames helps restore both her stamina and physical wounds while in combat. It also aids in her dexterity on the battlefield, helping her avoid more blows from enemies, and increases her strength during fights as well. Hanneman doesn’t say how often these effects activate, as he couldn’t find a record of it in any of the texts. But he did find one passage describing others sometimes witnessing these effects on Nemesis whenever he’d engage in combat.

“Your Crest is powerful indeed. It should greatly aid you in the future, Professor. Would you like to try activating it?”

“I don’t know how.”

“In battle, it can be a random, natural occurrence. At least that’s been the observation thus far for all Crests. But you may also willingly make it activate. Like so.”

Hanneman holds out his hand facing up, and his Crest sigil hovers over his palm. “Mine is the Crest of Indech, from one of the Four Saints. It helps me strike in multiple succession whenever I use a weapon. At least twice, I’ve discovered so far. Although for someone like me who prefers to use magic, it doesn’t activate all that often.”

Giving an encouraging nod for her to give it a go, Byleth holds out her palm. Nothing happens. She concentrates on its shape, trying to memorize all the curves and slopes of the intricate design. She thinks back to the day she shielded her class from that bandit in Zanado, and the intruders of the Holy Mausoleum. In those moments, she wanted nothing more than to keep her students safe. Had she known how to activate her Crest, it probably would’ve sped things along.

She gives a quiet gasp when the sigil finally appears above her palm. It glows in a bright light, acting almost like its fiery namesake.

“Well done, Professor!” Hanneman congratulates. “How did you make it appear?”

“I just thought of protecting my students from harm.”

He gives her a fond smile. “This Crest should make that a little easier for you now.”

“Yeah.” The sigil disappears when she lowers her hand. “Thank you for all your help, Professor Hanneman. I would’ve never known I had such a thing within me. It… helped me understand a little bit more about who I am.”

“It was my pleasure, Professor.”

“You can just call me Byleth. We’ve been coworkers for a while now.”

“Very well, Miss Byleth.” Guess he can’t help himself with the formalities. He clears his throat to say, “With all that has happened, there’s no reason to keep your Crest a secret. You wouldn’t mind terribly if I happened to talk about it with others, would you?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “but please keep whatever my father told you to yourself. He’s a private person.”

“Of course, of course! I will promise.”

She leaves after that. Byleth doesn’t activate her Crest again until she’s alone in her room. As she sits on the bed, she practices activating it over and over again. In flashes it illuminates her living space. The light hits the wrapped Sword of the Creator hidden underneath her bed, the hilt peeking out from the nearest leg.

Byleth sets it on her lap and unfurls it. Carefully she brushes her fingers along its boney blade. She can vaguely see the lines separating the pieces that will turn it into a whip if she so chooses. The gaping hole settled above the cross-guard stares at her. She traces the circular shape with her index finger, moving down to the dragon wing adornments just below it.

She stops when she feels it hum. No, wait. That’s not accurate. It doesn’t vibrate like it’s humming. More like it’s…

_Pulsating._

The steady, light beat sends a chill up her spine. It reverberates against the meat of her thighs, and she can almost hear a heart beating in its place. She touches her chest in the spot where her heart is, but even after all these years, she still can’t feel it beat.

She remembers the first time Jeralt told her that her heart doesn’t beat. It was back during her formative years when she had laid on his chest as they gazed at the stars. She had heard the strange sound drumming within, and asked him what it was.

He had hesitated answering her, and even more so when she asked why she didn’t have one too.

Jeralt told her he didn’t know. But to not tell anyone. She didn’t ask why; just agreed with a silent nod. Later she learned she had a pulse, and for a few years afterward, would press her thumb against the inside of her wrist, or along her neck.

She is alive. Just without a beating heart to prove it.

The knock at the door jolts her. “Who is it?”

“Me, kid.”

“You can come in, Father.”

As he enters, she lights a few candles so it’s not so dark in the room. Jeralt’s stare bores holes into the Sword of the Creator. His shoulders are squared. Tense. Hanneman must’ve already told him about her Crest. Or maybe Rhea did. By noon tomorrow, everyone in the monastery will have heard about her newfound power.

“So, you have a Crest,” he finally says.

“Yeah. I’m the only one to have it, apparently. As far as anyone knows.”

He huffs without opening his mouth. “Rhea said it’s a blessing from the goddess. But I dunno how true that is,” he grumbles, sitting down. For a moment, he stares at an invisible point near her desk. “I guess I ought to tell you a bit about… the stuff I never told you.”

Byleth takes a seat next to him. Jeralt doesn’t look at her. He focuses on the feet of the chair. The shadows cast by all the candles shroud most of his face. “When I was younger, I almost died protecting Rhea. Lost too much blood. She gave me some of hers—said her Crest was special and should help. I lived, obviously. But the thing about getting blood directly from a Crest-bearer, means you have a Crest yourself.”

Looking at her, he pauses as he meets her eyes. “I don’t know if your mother had a Crest. But I did. Do. Except it wasn’t the Crest of Flames. Rather, the Crest of Seiros. I dunno if that saint ever had kids, but Rhea has it, so she must’ve inherited it from a distant ancestor. You having an unknown one was kind of weird. That’s why on that day you asked me why you had a Crest, I was both unsurprised, and confused.”

“I should’ve had your Crest,” she realizes.

“Right,” he affirms with a nod. “But instead you have this one, the Flames, which I guess is super rare or whatever, and only Nemesis ever had it. I’m told he had no descendants, and no relatives with it either. So as to why you have this particular one, I have no idea.”

She wants to be upset he never told her about his own Crest. (Did that help his reputation as The Blade Breaker?) But she supposes those things never mattered, until they did. She wants to ask him about all the other things he’s been keeping from her—she’s sure this isn’t the only thing. But a lot has happened in the past couple of hours. She doesn’t know how much more revelations she can handle right now when she still hasn’t processed the strangeness of today.

“You can be upset with me,” Jeralt says when she doesn’t reply for a while. “I understand if you are.”

“I want to be,” she tells him honestly, “but I’m still trying to comprehend all of the other stuff that I learned today. I don’t know how to make sense of it.”

He gives a weary sigh. “Some things in this world just don’t make any damn sense. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll learn to accept it. Not to say that you should just roll over on everything, but, sometimes, the pieces don’t fall into the puzzle when you’re actively looking.”

Jeralt points to the sword. “Rhea gave you that?”

“Yeah.” Byleth traces the dragon wings of the cross-guard with a finger. “It responded to me, so, it’s technically mine in a way. I need to learn how to use it. She said it’s powerful. But I don’t even know where to begin.”

She pauses, staring at the empty space of the sword. She tries to remember her recurring dream, but she can’t piece together what was supposed to go in this hole. In the dream, it’s blotted out by blood, so much that she can’t even begin to describe what it looks like.

“Kid, you okay?”

“Remember those dreams I’ve told you about?” she starts slowly. It should be okay to tell him about this; he’s her father. “I’ve seen this sword in them, every time. It was used during that battle. But there’s…,” she taps the rim of the circular vacancy, “there’s something that’s supposed to go here. I don’t know what, but I just know it’s missing.”

Jeralt takes his time looking at the sword. Byleth lets him hold it as he examines it with nimble fingers. He flips it around, taps his knuckles against it, pats the sharp point of the blade with a finger. “This is one of those Relic weapons, yeah? Why does this feel like—”

“Bone?”

“Yeah, bone.” He hands it back to her as he adds, “But I guess these were made long, long ago, so who knows what kind of materials might’ve been lost through the ages.”

She wants to tell him she can feel it pulsating. Beat like a heart. Although he looks just as tired as she feels. Another day, then.

Instead, she mentions her decision to cut down her class size. She laments over the sad, disappointed faces of the students she’s dismissed, and her worry that the ones who remain might be in more danger. But this job has too many ramifications, and she wants to minimize risk if possible. Having this small class size will be easier both on her, and the students. With the addition of this new Relic mystery, not fretting over inexperienced pupils will be better for everyone.

“I don’t think anyone expects you to be a perfect professor in your first year,” he reasons. “But it was smart to have those kids transferred. Once you get the hang of it, you’ll be able to take on the full class size. Give it… maybe five more years until you’re really ready to lead those 50 or so people.”

“So we’re staying here for at least five years?”

He grunts. “Possibly longer. Much, much longer. Like I said, this is our home now. And what do we do when we’re in a situation we’re unfamiliar or uncomfortable with?”

“Assess, and adapt.”

A small smile brightens up his tired face. “That’s right. You assessed that not all of your students were trained enough to handle life and death situations. What did you do? Have them transferred to a class that’ll help them gain those skills so they’ll stay alive to graduate. You adapted to the situation.”

She hums, nodding. Jeralt ruffles her hair. “It’ll be fine, By. Just keep making smart decisions like that, and it’ll all work out. Somehow.”

Jeralt stands up and stretches, cracking his back. He mutters a comment about his age, then says to her, “You and I should take a weekend trip or something just to… get away from all this for a while. Not anytime soon, but eventually. First I’ll have to even see if I get days off. I doubt it, but, I’ll use my… ‘friendship’ with Rhea to my advantage.”

“I’d like that. We could fish, and have tomato soup. Hunt some game, or have sparring practice.”

He gives her a fond smile. “Yeah, of course. Anyway, just came over to see if you were alright. I heard you decimated the intruders, so I wasn’t gonna ask. But then I heard of the sword thing, and decided to come over anyway.”

“I’m fine; whenever I’m not, I’ll let you know.”

“Then I’ll guess I’ll see you when I can,” he replies with a nod. “Keep up the good work, By.”

She bids him a good night, and then she’s left alone in her room again.

  
  
  
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Byleth wakes up tired. The sky outside the window is already light enough that she figures she should get up and have breakfast. There weren’t any dreams last night, not even of the sword. Right now it’s wrapped up again with the cloth and hidden away underneath her bed, behind boxes of supplies. Maybe she should try to uplift one of the floorboards and hide it away there instead. One under the rug, perhaps.

“Would that not be too obvious?” asks Sothis. “Perhaps you can find a more inconspicuous place to store it.”

Rubbing a hand over her face, Byleth says, “There really isn’t anywhere else, especially if people already—”

Wait a minute.

Turning to her left, she sees Sothis floating there. Little specs of glittering dust float with her, sprinkling down until they fade away to nothing. She’s blinking at her with big, green eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“How rude!” scolds Sothis, stomping her foot in the air and hunching her shoulders, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Instead of offering a ‘good morning’, you instead reply in such an unwelcome and crass manner! This is _also_ my room, you know!”

_Oh, it’s too early for more of this weird shit._

Byleth sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Sothis gives a huff, perhaps having read her thoughts. Nice to know she can even when not being inside her head. “No, I meant, why aren’t you in your usual throne void?”

Sothis calms down. She crosses her arms and her legs, as if she’s sitting on something. “I do not know. After you got the Sword of the Creator, I went into a slumber. When I next awoke, there was… a thin screen of light. Almost like a veil. Not at all bright. I could vaguely make out the familiarity of your room. Curiosity overcame me, and when I touched it, I appeared here.”

This has never happened before. She didn’t even know Sothis could materialize like this. Will other people be able to see her? Or is Byleth still the only one able to communicate with the mysterious girl?

“Do you think the sword has something to do with it?” she suggests.

“Perhaps. And no, I am uncertain if others are able to see me. We will have to test it out.”

“No, no I don’t think so.”

“But we must. That way I know if I can continue to appear beside you.” She smiles, hovering around the room, giving a little twirl. “Oh, I feel so much more independent. Though it is possible I might not be able to wander too far from where you are. We are still tethered together, after all. Oh, eww.” Sothis flies upward, past the chandelier, squinting her eyes. “This ceiling is filthy. They must do a better job of cleaning it.”

A knock at the door has Sothis whip her head in its direction. “Goodness. Who could that be? Answer it.”

“Don’t think it’s a good idea.”

More knocking. Insistent this time. Then voices starting to argue.

“Just answer it, Byleth!”

With a heavy sigh, she braces herself. Whoever is there might see Sothis, and she’ll have no idea how to explain to them about her existence. Maybe she can just pretend they’re seeing things. She _is _just floating there.

The arguing immediately stops, and she finds Felix—of all people—standing on her doorstep. Linhardt is next to him, and Bernadetta peeks out from behind the sleepy mage, a firm grasp on his sleeve.

“…Can I help you three?” she asks, confused. Why are they even up this early on a Saturday? There’s no supplemental lectures today for most classes. What time is it?

Felix gets right to the point. “Is it true that you’re the new wielder of the Sword of the Creator?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a question, or a fact?”

“A fact.”

He gives a hum, looking the slightest bit pleased. “In that case, I’d like to join your class.”

Linhardt gives a nod. “I’d also like to join.”

“Uh,” Bernadetta starts, “i-if there’s room… can I… um I mean…”

Byleth blinks her sleep away. Sothis is outside now, floating around them curiously. The trio doesn’t take notice of her. At least it’s good to know that only Byleth can see her. But having her wandering around might be a distraction, and then people will think she’s just staring off at nothing. Something to be discussed later.

“Hold on.” Byleth shakes her head. “I… You three want to join my class? This is a little awkward to be asking so early.”

“I was already up,” Felix states. “Early morning training.” Because of course that’s what he’d be doing at the asscrack of dawn on a weekend. “But I agree. Maybe put on a robe or something. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone cares to see your breasts, Professor.”

She stares down at her chest. Oh, right. She just wears a skimpy black nightgown because it’s summer and it was on sale at one of the shops in town. (What can she say? She likes lace.) It does little to hide her assets and barely covers them. Maybe a bit short too, reaching only up to the middle of her thighs. Well, not her fault. She never planned to have anyone see her like this.

Sothis sighs, and smacks her own face with a hand. “You should have considered what you were wearing before greeting people!”

Byleth ignores her. “You already know I have them, Felix. I don’t care if you don’t.” Linhardt doesn’t seem to care either. He only yawns and stretches. With him having such a hyper focus on Crests and his other interests, she doubts if he’d even blink if someone were to streak across the monastery.

Bernadetta, however, can’t help but stare. She slowly mouths out something like, ‘They’re _huge_’ as her eyes bulge at the sight. And then squeaks when Byleth catches her staring, hiding further behind Linhardt. Her entire face is red like a pepper.

“Fair point,” says Felix. “Anyway, I’m serious about wanting to join your class. To see the Sword of the Creator—witness it in action.” And what’s this? He’s… actually looking happy—excited, more like it, and _smiling_? “You have to let me fight you with it. I want to see how I can measure up against such a weapon. But I know you said you give priority to those in your class, so I want to join.”

“I’m also going to be honest, Professor,” Linhardt cuts in, “and say my main reason for wanting to be your student is so I can observe the sword in close quarters. To see what it takes to wield it. And see your Crest in action when in the battlefield,” he ends with a smile.

Well, at least they’re not trying to kiss her ass. She can respect that. Byleth then looks to Bernadetta. “Why do you want to join my class?”

“Uh… u-um…,” she stutters, “just… you must be strong to have a Relic and… w-well you defended the mausoleum and—uuugh Professor!” she cries. “I’m just scared okay by what’s been happening and you’re so strong so if I’m in your class then maybe I won’t die and you always bring me a piece of cake b-but that’s not why I wanna join or anything I just want to live and—!”

“Okay. Let me get the forms.”

Bernadetta blinks. “Wh-What?”

Byleth rummages through her desk drawer and pulls out the forms, handing one to each. “Have your professors sign this, and bring it back to me after breakfast. I expect you all to start today too, if possible. We only do morning training exercises on Saturdays. At least every other Saturday. This time we’re just reviewing this week’s lecture so everyone has a little break from training, especially after yesterday.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Linhardt says, taking the paper. “This will do wonders for my research.”

“You won’t regret it,” Felix says. “I’ll promise you that much.”

“Th-Thank you…!” Bernadetta squeaks, holding the paper close to her chest.

Pausing, Byleth watches their faces light up in their own little ways as they read over the forms. “I have room in my class because I let some students go yesterday.”

She explains about the sword, that she might be in even more danger because those mystery assailants were after it. And she only allowed the students who are more advanced to stay with her. She assures that since Felix, Linhardt, and Bernadetta will be transferring classes, they already have some combat skill—better than the students who she dismissed.

“I don’t want any of you to be disappointed, and I want you all to know what you’ll be getting into.”

Felix grunts. “Those students had weak constitutions. Why are they even here at the Officers Academy? The whole point is to learn how to kill enemies. You won’t get that cowardice from me, Professor. So quash that concern, because it’s unnecessary.”

“I’m well-aware of the potential dangers of my field of study,” Linhardt says. “Any good researcher worth their weight in knowledge knows this. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t take risks. As much as I want to _avoid _bloodshed,” he sighs, “I really, _really_ don’t want to miss this opportunity, and I can’t say that about a lot of things. So in a way, you should feel honored I’m actually going to put effort into doing the work you assign us. For the most part.”

“Thank you. I think.” She looks to Bernadetta. “Do you still want to join even after everything I’ve told you?”

With a whine, she replies, “I’ll be in danger no matter which class I’m in! B-But if you can master that sword… then I’ll be in less danger! R-Right?” She looks down at her boots. “And Petra says y-you’re really patient with teaching… and that she’s learning stuff faster than she thought. S-So…” She rapidly shakes her head. “I’m sorry if you don’t want me in your class! I don’t have to be s-so don’t get upset or anything and I’ll leave you alone after if—!”

“No, I’m not upset. I just wanted to properly warn you all. If you three really want to join, then I’d be happy to have you.”

Bernadetta nods in quick succession and shrieks out a thank you. Then she makes a mad sprint to her room. Linhardt says he’s going to catch up on some sleep for a bit, and Felix will get Hanneman’s signature before he goes back to his early morning training.

Left alone again, Byleth closes the door to her room and sighs. Sothis hovers around and lands on her bed. “Are you going to keep allowing students to join your class? I thought you were deeply concerned with their safety.”

“I am, but I feel bad rejecting them. Besides, it’s as I said: they already have some experience thanks to being taught by Hanneman and Manuela. They won’t be helpless like my other students were. Hope they don’t resent me for that….”

“They will not. Although I will say they might be a bit upset for a few days. But now is not the time for fussing. Get dressed so we may have breakfast in the dining hall. I wish to explore what I can now that I am able to wander myself.”

Byleth washes up her face in the metal basin she keeps in the corner. No time for a bath now. She’ll have to do it later. As she’s dressing into a suitable outfit, she tells Sothis, “We still need to talk about your wandering. I don’t want to get distracted looking at you while I’m out and about. Maybe only wander when I’m alone and not with other people.”

“That is not fair!” She gives her a big pout, crossing her arms over her chest. So much for not being a child. “I would like to examine all of these individuals myself. They _are_ people who you interact with daily. I would like a chance to make my own assessment of them.”

“And you can only do that by flying around and invading their personal space?”

Sothis ‘hmph’s. “They cannot see me; this is to our advantage, and I wish to have a look at all the things I cannot because we share a body. But very well. I will only appear when alone. Or hover behind you so you cannot see me. Is that good enough of a compromise?”

“I guess.”

With a frustrated sigh, Sothis floats back up into the air. “Let us go, then. I will disappear the moment you enter the classroom. But for now, I would like to explore with you. Will that suffice?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Byleth grabs her things and walks to the dining hall to pick up a muffin. It’s too late for her to have a sit-down meal since she’ll have to take the extra time to adjust her lesson plans now that she has three extra students.

Everything should be okay. Once she gets the hang of using the Sword of the Creator, things should return back to some level of normalcy. Hopefully.

  
  
  
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Felix, Linhardt, and Bernadetta are already at the classroom when she gets there. They hand her the forms and take their seats. Felix somewhere in the middle (he ignores Sylvain’s suggestion to sit next to him), Linhardt toward the back near the aisle, and Bernadetta right beside Petra, probably wanting to be near a familiar face.

“I know I just dismissed a handful of people yesterday,” Byleth starts, “but we have three new students who’ll be joining us for the rest of the year.”

Claude turns around in his seat, looking between the three. “Now this is a surprise. But welcome to the Golden Deer, all the same! I’m your new house leader, Claude. And if you have any questions or need some help, feel free to ask for bits of my wisdom.”

“Pass,” comments Felix.

“You’re a bit of prickly pear, aren’t you? Why don’t you introduce yourself to the class, Mr. Cactus?”

Though he gets a glare, Felix still complies. “You already know who I am,” he addresses to everyone as he stands. “I transferred because I want to spar with the professor whenever possible. As wielder of the Sword of the Creator, she’s bound to become a formidable warrior. That’s it. Not really here to make new friends.”

He sits back down and Sylvain says, “Don’t let his cold demeanor get to you guys. Felix can be nice when he wants to be. I should know; been his friend since we were kids. He used to be so cute…. A bit of a crybaby back then too.”

If looks could kill, Sylvain would be dead where he sits with the way Felix burns holes into his skull. But all Sylvain does is laugh, tearing through the tense and almost murderous atmosphere clustering around Felix. He must _really_ want to spar with Byleth. She’s sure a comment like that would’ve had him switching back to the Blue Lions after he buries Sylvain’s fresh corpse in the forest.

“Linhardt,” the sleepy mage says, much like the first time Byleth met him. He doesn’t stand up. “As I said to Professor Byleth earlier, I only transferred so I could observe her Crest and the Sword of the Creator in person. But I’m also interested in learning from her teaching style. And…,” he yawns, covering his mouth, “I like to sleep, so, if you guys could keep it down during study time or whatever so I can catch a nap, that’d be great. Thank you.”

“You’re not supposed to be napping during lectures,” Lysithea says. “We’re here to learn. Sleep on your own time.” She’s ignored as Linhardt nods and gives a dismissive wave, already drifting off into a slumber as he supports his head with a hand. Lysithea rolls her eyes.

“Uh,” Bernadetta starts, staying rooted to her seat, “I-I’m um… B-B-Bernadetta von Varley a-and I um… w-well…”

“It is okay, Bernie,” Petra comforts beside her. “Everyone here is nice. You can be doing your introductions. I believe in you.”

With a nervous nod, Bernadetta continues, “…I-I don’t really like fighting—I hate it, actually, b-but I heard Professor Byleth is a good teacher s-so… m-maybe I’ll get stronger faster so…”

“Then you’ve come to the right place!” Sylvain says. He smiles at her. “And hey, that’s alright if you don’t like fighting. I don’t think any of us do—expect maybe Felix—but we gotta still learn this stuff. The professor will help you out, no problem. She’s pretty patient. I’m sure by the end of this year, you’ll be a whole different Bernadetta!”

“R… Really?”

“Sure! Isn’t that right, Professor?” he asks, looking to Byleth.

“He’s correct. I’ll do my best to teach you the skills you need to graduate. Don’t worry.”

“O-Okay. Th-Thank you…,” she replies, both to Byleth and Sylvain. As she ducks her head, the latter gives her a thumbs up before turning back around in his seat. Bernadetta actually smiles and takes out a piece of parchment.

_Sylvain is really good at instilling confidence in everyone else. Almost like a supportive big brother._

The class goes on normally after that. Her three new students aren’t too lost as she goes through the review lecture. Anything they do have questions with, she answers, or the person next to them helps them out.

When the lunch bell’s familiar gong resonates throughout the monastery, signaling the end of the Saturday classes, Linhardt asks, “Professor, when are you going to demonstrate your Relic’s powers?”

“Not until I know how to wield it, Linhardt.” Everyone else stays for a few moments. Maybe they’re interested too? “Might not be for a few days, at least. But if you’re that insistent on observing, I guess you can watch me train. From a _safe_ distance.”

“That, I can work with.”

As people raise their hands, Byleth says, “No, I’m not going to use the Relic when we’re sparring. But I will use it on the battlefield once I gain control.” Felix begins to protest, so she says, “You need to show me you’re more than adequate with a regular sword, Felix, before I’ll spar with you using the Relic. You have the rest of the year to prove you have even a chance that you can best me.”

It’s an answer that seems to satisfy him since he hums in acknowledgement. He’s the first to leave, and Sylvain follows close behind, prattling on about how he’s happy he has him in his class now. The others leave in pairs or groups. No one stays behind to chat, so she figures she’ll get her lunch alone.

_But before that…_

Taking a small gift out of her satchel, she ventures over to the grand entrance where Anthony is stationed, as always. He greets passersby with a sunny smile, and when he spots Byleth, he salutes her.

“Greetings, Professor! Nothing to report! Although, I heard you got a Relic weapon! Wow, that sounds so cool!”

“Hello Anthony. And I guess in a way it is. I’ll still need to master it, though. Thinking about asking Catherine for some advice.”

“Sounds like a good idea!” His sunny disposition settles, and then he sighs. With slumped shoulders, he says, “Ah, I want to apologize. The attack yesterday—well I should’ve noticed those people. I remember every face and name that passes by through here, but they somehow slipped away from me. This could’ve been avoided had I been more diligent.”

He gives her a defeated smile. “Guess I’m not too great of a gatekeeper, am I?”

“Anthony, you’re doing excellent as a gatekeeper,” she assures. “These people were already here, probably before you were even given this post. And they were most likely aware of your sharp memory, so they tried to avoid you so you wouldn’t find them suspicious.”

Byleth places a hand on his forearm. “This isn’t your fault. But if you really feel like you need to make it up to me, then stay as the gatekeeper.”

“Aww, well… when you put it like that… guess I can,” he replies bashfully. “Okay, I’ll try harder next time!”

“Good. Also,” she hands him the gift, “I couldn’t give this to you yesterday because of what was going on. Happy 21st Birthday, Anthony.”

“Y-You remembered?!” He sets the lance against the stone wall, and takes the gift gingerly in his hands. “You didn’t need to get me anything, Professor!”

“I wanted to. You might not be able to use it until later in the year, but, I hope it’s useful.”

He unwraps the gift to find a long-sleeved tunic and scarf. Both of them are made of wool stitched close together to make it insulated. They’re supposed to keep him extra warm during the winter months, she explains. Byleth didn’t want him to catch a cold knowing he’d have to be out here for so long.

“Both should fit under your armor,” she says. “Although maybe the scarf will be too bulky for the chainmail.”

Anthony smiles wide as he stares at the clothes. “This is very thoughtful. Thank you so much, Professor! No one’s… ever given me something like this. Well, I mean I get a few gifts now and again, but…”

“You’re welcome, Anthony. I hope it fits.”

“I think it should!” he says, holding up the tunic. “Yeah, yeah this’ll work. And it’s in my favorite color: gray!” He folds the clothes back and wraps them up again. “This was real nice of you to do, Professor. I want to get you something too for your birthday!”

“You don’t have to.”

“No no, I insist! Do you like flowers? Or… jewelry—well, actually I might not be able to afford that on my pay.” He mumbles that part to himself. “Uh, maybe a book? Or a new weapon?”

“I’ll be happy with anything you get me, Anthony. I promise.”

“Well, okay,” he says, not looking convinced. “I’ll see what I can come up with. Horsebow Moon on the 20th, right? That’s your birthday?”

She never told him beforehand—she’d remember, so how did he know? Did he get it from someone else? Anthony notices the surprise on her face, so he says, “I heard Lord Claude talking about it one time. Something about trying to figure out your age.”

Oh, that’s right. Anthony would have heard anything and everything at his post. Being stationed at the front of the entrance hall and just adjacent to the marketplace must mean he knows a lot of little tidbits about people.

“Would you happen to know Claude’s birthday?”

“Hmm…,” he shakes his head as he rubs at his chin, “no, sorry. But that time he went to Mach Foothills on his own, I had asked him if he should be going with at least one person. He mentioned he’s 18 now, and so can handle himself. Said something like, ‘I’m a big boy, so no need to worry about me, Tony’.”

He chuckles a bit. “Never been called ‘Tony’ before. Y’know, I think you and he are the only people to remember my name.”

Claude is already 18? Last month she learned he was 17. Which means, his birthday must’ve been this month, in the Blue Sea Moon. Probably recent, since Claude had told Anthony he’s 18 _now_.

_I can’t believe I missed his birthday. And I doubt anyone else knew about it too._

“Thank you, Anthony. I’ll figure out the rest somehow.”

Picking up the lance again, and tucking the present underneath his chest plate, he says, “Does he not want anyone to know when his birthday is?”

Byleth shrugs. “Maybe. He’s always evasive about it, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care to celebrate it in any way. But he’s always willing to celebrate the birthdays of other people. So… why not his own?”

Anthony doesn’t have any suggestions, but he has confidence she’ll figure it out. And a late birthday is still as good as a birthday on time. She then bids him a good afternoon, and walks back into the entrance hall. Maybe she should bring him a peach sorbet. This summer really is starting to get more on the scorching side.

“Hey, Teach.”

“Claude,” she greets. He’s coming back from the dining hall, she figures, since he’s finishing up munching on a couple of grapes clustered in his palm. “Did you have a nice lunch?”

“Same ol’, same ol’,” he replies. When he finishes eating the fruit, he asks, “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I was just coming back from giving Anthony his birthday gift. It was yesterday, but, with all that was happening, I didn’t have a chance to visit him.”

He hums, nodding. “You do like to remember everyone’s birthdays, don’t you? Bring them flowers, or have tea with them, maybe get them a little something thoughtful and sweet. I’d say you’re well on your way to becoming a model teacher.”

“Thank you. I just want everyone to feel appreciated. Speaking of, I assume your birthday already passed.”

“Really?” he asks, crossing his arms. “How do you figure?”

She tells him about the chat with Anthony, and the fact that Claude was old enough to work now, which means he must’ve turned 18 at some point. She knows it’s recent, but can’t figure out the exact day. Claude looks amused, smiling at her as she tries to guess what day it is.

“You’re quite the researcher, Teach. But none of those days are when my birthday was.”

“Am I at least getting close?”

“Maaaaybe,” he says playfully. Then he changes the topic. Why does he always do this when his birthday comes up in discussion? “My turn to go on a fishing expedition: what did Hanneman wanna talk with you about? Your Crest?”

“Is there anything else he ever wants to talk about with people?”

Claude laughs. “Good point. So, what’d he say?”

She’s hesitant to tell him, only because she’s not sure if she should. Though the monastery is most likely aware she has a Relic now, she doubts they know what her Crest is yet. Hanneman did say the only one who ever had it was Nemesis. And the fact that he had no descendants or family—no, that doesn’t make sense. He had to have had at least one. Maybe someone who was forgotten in history?

But then… Crests get weaker and weaker the longer it remains in generations of a family. Yet she has the _major_ Crest of Flames, not a minor Crest like most nobles do.

When she’s quiet for too long, Claude says, “Remember that sword I spoke about with you before? The one that can cut mountains in half?” She nods, and he continues, “That’s the Relic; the Sword of the Creator. I had thought it was just a myth, but knowing now that it really exists, well I almost still can’t believe it.”

“I’m having a hard time processing this too.”

He shakes his head. “But on your end, there’s not much to process, is there? Only Nemesis was able to wield it, so that must mean you’re related to him somehow.”

“I’m not his descendent,” she says, because she doesn’t like the thought of being related to someone… like that. If he truly is the man she saw in her dreams fighting that woman. Actually, was that woman Saint Seiros? If so, she doesn’t like the implications of this. Nemesis had gone mad with power and created chaos all across Fódlan.

That can’t happen to her too, can it?

“Don’t be coy, Teach,” Claude replies in a way that’s laced with slightest bit of frustration. “The Sword of the Creator could only be wielded by Nemesis. And now you’re the second person in history to do so. If you can use it too, that must mean you have that bloodline’s Crest.”

“I don’t understand.”

She really, really doesn’t. He _had_ no descendants. There _are_ no records of him ever marrying or even taking any lovers. No family either. But maybe… did something back then happen like what happened with Jeralt? Where if someone with a Crest gives blood to another to save their life, they’ll have a Crest too? No, no she can’t see Nemesis ever doing that.

But… maybe, he could have? Before he grew hungry for power? Though wouldn’t it end up the same—that even if they did get blood in such a way, the Crest would weaken more and more with every generation in that person’s family?

“Fine,” Claude says with a shrug. “Keep your secrets. But just so you know, ‘_I don’t understand_’,” he emphasizes with air quotes. Says it mockingly too, and he’s not even trying to sound like her as frustration again seeps through his otherwise calm tone, “isn’t gonna cut it here in the monastery. Not anymore. Not with everything that’s been happening.”

He’s never spoken to her like that before.

It carves a hole in her chest and it… it hurts, just the slightest bit. She doesn’t like anything about this conversation. About this new development in her life. Nothing. She really doesn’t know anything. Why? Why won’t anyone believe her?

Claude stares at her, and she stares back, unsure of what to say. He’s upset, that much she does understand. And maybe _she’s_ even the slightest bit angry, because it’s not her fault that she didn’t know about her Crest—that she doesn’t know anything about a lot of things. But, the thought of him, of all people, being upset with her, outweighs any of her own frustration she’s feeling. At least right now.

So she says, “The major Crest of Flames. That’s what Hanneman said I have. But I don’t know why. I wouldn’t keep something like that from you, Claude. At least, not intentionally.”

He gives her another look. Not an angry one, but she can tell he’s searching her face for any tells of fibbing. Why does this bother him anyway? Does her having a Crest mean he—and other people—are going to change how they treat her?

“Ah, if it isn’t my little Claude,” an unfamiliar voice says.

Claude’s eyes grow wide as he stares behind Byleth. “Judith?!” When she turns around, there’s a tall woman standing there. A rapier is strapped at her hip. “What’re you doing here?!”

“That’s Lady Judith to you, boy,” she warns lightly. Her blue eyes are piercing. _Is she a relative of Claude’s?_ She crosses her arms, hip cocked to the side as she leans her weight on that side. “Until you’re officially duke of the Alliance, you’ll address me properly and with all due respect, got it?”

She sighs, and flicks her dark brown hair over her shoulder. It’s tied neatly in a high ponytail. Only two locks of her bangs sweep to the left side of her face. “As for my business, I’m here to retrieve you. Duke Riegan’s condition has taken a turn for the worse.”

The surprise dissipates from Claude’s face, replacing it with the mildest hint of worry. “Is the old man on his death bed?”

“No, nothing like that. But he’s not in a good state to attend the next roundtable conference. So, you’re gonna do it for him. His request, actually. I volunteered to play messenger. Needed to stretch my legs anyway.”

Claude sighs, hands on his hips. “Well, I guess I gotta learn the family business sooner or later. Might as well be now. Thanks for telling me.” As if remembering Byleth still exists in the current space of reality, he adds, “Oh, Teach, this is Judith. Better known as the Hero of House Daphnel. She’s pretty well-known across all of Fódlan.”

Judith hums, smiling a bit. “Buttering me up isn’t gonna get you off the hook for not addressing me politely.” She looks to Byleth next. “So, you’re little Claude’s professor. Damn, this place is making them younger and younger every year. Thought you were a classmate of his. How much trouble has he been giving you? Be honest.”

Maybe it’s because she’s kind of upset at him, and upset at everything else happening around her, that she says, “He can be a bit of a brat. Kind of a smartass.” Claude sputters in surprise, but she keeps going, not allowing him to properly protest, “But he does well in his book studies and in training. Group work isn’t a problem for him either, most of the time anyway. It evens out.”

Laughing, Judith replies, “That sounds about right. What’s your name?”

“Byleth.”

“Then it’s nice to meet you, Professor Byleth.” Judith sneaks Claude a glance, smirking just the slightest bit. “I can see why he’d be mostly on his best behavior with someone like you as his instructor.”

Clearing his throat, Claude quickly says, “If her nickname didn’t already give it away, Judith—ah, _Lady_ Judith—is the head of the famous House Daphnel of the Leicester Alliance. She used to be a big deal in the roundtable conferences. But as of late, it seems she’s been reduced to a mere—”

“Better shut that mouth before I put my boot in it, you tactless nuisance,” Judith warns again. An impish smirk curls on Claude’s face. “Now stop standing around and put your things together. The sooner we leave, the better.”

“You need to at least give me some time to organize my stuff,” Claude argues. “You can’t just come here and demand we leave without a head’s up! I would’ve been ready otherwise.”

“Then get a move on.” Judith looks to Byleth as she says, “Sorry Professor, but I’ll need to borrow the boy for a bit. I’ll try to have him back here in a week or so.”

“That’s okay. Take all the time you need. I’ll have his missed assignments ready for him when he gets back. Besides,” she doesn’t look at Claude, just keeps her focus on Judith, “I think we can all use a change of scenery right about now. It was nice meeting you, Lady Judith.”

She only spares Claude a quick glance, “Have a safe trip, the both of you,” before she leaves without looking back.

Vaguely she hears Judith comment aloud, “Did I come at a bad time?”, but Byleth doesn’t pay attention to any response Claude might’ve given. She thinks she hears him call after her to wait, but maybe that’s her imagination playing tricks on her. Making her hear things she wants to.

And so she just keeps walking forward, bypassing the dining hall. Right now she just wants to be somewhere that’s quiet and vacant where she can be left alone to sort out these feelings she doesn’t like having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I take creative liberties with the canon again. Both in the Jeralt scene, and the Sothis scene. That might slightly alter future events of this story since it doesn't align completely with the canon timeline, but I'll make it work.
> 
> New recruits! Any character I plan to add to Byleth's class, I'll try to make them join for legitimate plot-related reasons. At least for most of them. How many more will join her roster? Who knows. Some might not get to before the timeskip....
> 
> Oops. Claude and Byleth hit the first snag in their developing friendship. I know Claude's generally a pretty nice guy, but he can also be an insensitive jerk sometimes. More during pre-timeskip and a lot less in post-timeskip. At least if you pick his route. He's got some growing to do. But poor Byleth. I wonder how she'll handle this? And just when her little crush was starting to bloom, too.
> 
> This last part is kind of a PSA, now that we're in a state of a global pandemic: please. Wash your hands. Be careful. Here in the States, a good chunk of our universities are being closed for a couple of weeks and we're all switching to online learning. Now grade school districts are beginning to follow suit. It's chaotic, and while we shouldn't panic (because that never helps), we still need to have some level of caution. So please wash your hands regularly (I mean, people _should've_ been doing this already as basic personal hygiene and overall common sense, but what do I know lol). And if you ever cough or sneeze, do it in your arm or sleeve (not with your hand). I want everyone to stay safe! And most importantly: don't be racist. _Please._
> 
> Kind of a serious note to end on, so uh, I just also want to say thank you so much for reading this fic! It has a little over 400 kudos now! You'll all awesome! 💖 I know I usually don't update on Saturdays, but I made a note about my updating schedule [here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/pnkpchs/status/1238896526190997505?s=20) as to why.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	25. XXV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> After speaking with Hanneman, Byleth discovers she has the major Crest of Flames. A very rare one, with Nemesis being the only other person in recorded history to have it. She tells Jeralt when he visits her room later. It's there she also learns he has the Crest of Seiros, which appeared after Rhea gave some of her blood to save him several years ago. These surprises continue to stockpile once she sees Sothis floating about her room the next morning. Their chat is interrupted by Felix, Linhardt, and Bernadetta, who wish to join Byleth's class, which she accepts. Around lunch time, Byleth gives Anthony a belated birthday gift, and then runs into Claude. Their chat quickly escalates into something sour; he falsely accuses her of hiding secrets, no matter what she says. It leaves her feeling somewhat hollow, and confused why he's suddenly speaking to her in such a way. She meets Judith, who came to escort Claude to Derdriu to stand in for his grandfather at a roundtable conference. Byleth leaves them to it, wanting to walk away from these negative feelings she doesn't like.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXV ⧽  
  
Ladies’ Night Out

“Teach. Teach wait!”

When Byleth doesn’t turn around but continues walking away, Claude gives a heavy sigh. He’s really stepped in it now. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so hard on her. Now he’s going to leave here with her being mad at him.

_Guess I deserve that._

“This is your fault, isn’t it?” asks Judith. “Not surprised.”

“Wow thanks for that immediate assumption.”

“Is it one?”

“…No,” he replies quietly.

Judith watches Byleth until she’s out the door on the other side of the entrance hall. “There’s no time to apologize for not thinking before you open that big mouth of yours. Get your things together and you can mope on the way to your grandfather’s. I’ll be waiting here.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Oh, you _really_ don’t want me as your mother, Claude.” Judith leans against a pillar, arms crossed. “For one, I’d make it a very blatant point to break your habit of making pretty professors upset.”

“That’s not—,” he gives a frustrated sigh, and begins to walk away, “fine, fine. I’m going.”

It doesn’t take long for him to pack his things. He’s never been one to fuss over clothes or personal effects. Just packs whatever he sees first, and makes sure his quiver is full of arrows. He takes a sword too, just in case. One can never be too careful out on the road.

As he’s making his way back to Judith, he spots Hilda chatting with Dorothea. Probably girl stuff. Like… nails, or jewelry. Hot guys (or gals, possibly). Maybe cute animals or whatever. Okay, he has no idea what girls like to chat about when they’re together (but he’s probably close. Probably), so he just ducks away and hopes they don’t see him.

Because he’s one unlucky son of motherfucker, Hilda notices him and stomps over his way, Dorothea close behind. They both look angry as they stare him down.

_Oh geez, I’m not going to like this am I?_

“So, where’re you going?” asks Hilda in an innocent tone.

“Places,” he replies calmly. “Gotta handle some things in the Alliance since my grandfather’s kinda sick. Judith came to escort me there.”

“And you’re just gonna leave, like that?” Dorothea asks, also feigning innocence. “Not tell anyone you’ll be missing class for a while?”

_You’re not even _in_ our class…._ “I’m sure Judith already notified Seteth. Or Teach will do it. She’s pretty diligent about that sorta stuff.”

“Speaking of the professor,” Hilda starts. Crap, he really should’ve seen that one coming, “she passed by us earlier as we had just finished our lunch. She looked upset for once, and when we asked her what was wrong, all she said was that she’s fine. She mentioned what you just did—that she needs to tell Seteth you’re leaving on official business for a while.”

“And she also happened to make a comment that it’ll do you good to get some ‘fresh air’ away from the monastery,” Dorothea adds. “What did she mean by that? You wouldn’t happen to have made her angry, would you, Claudie?”

“_Claudie_? My name’s only one syllable; I don’t think I need a nick—”

“Did you upset her or not?” she tries again in a sharper tone.

They already think he did. Not that they’re wrong, but it kind of irks him that if something is wrong with Byleth, people will immediately assume he had some involvement in it, good or bad. Though he supposes that’s kind of understandable. He does spend a lot of time with her.

“I might’ve… said some things I shouldn’t have,” he admits carefully. “Didn’t mean to say, actually. At least, not in a way that _could_ be attributed to Teach’s possible bad mood.”

“So that’s a yes,” Hilda summarizes. “And you’re just gonna leave without apologizing? After you made a girl angry? Really, Claude?”

“Judith is actually kinda scary if you make her mad,” he says as he starts to walk backward toward the entrance hall, “and I don’t want a new record of how many women I’ve upset in one day so I actually gotta—”

“Men really are all the same, aren’t they, Hilda?” asks Dorothea.

Hilda hums. “I have never heard truer words, Dorothea.”

“Okay, hold on, wait a minute.” Claude holds up a hand. “Yes, it was my fault. And no it had nothing to do with whatever you might be thinking. Contrary to popular belief, Sylvain’s libido is one-of-a-kind and thankfully it’s not contagious. So let’s strike out that possibility of inappropriate conversations to have with your professor.”

He sighs again for what seems like the tenth time this day. Crossing his arms, he says, “We were talking about her Crest and I kinda pushed too far. I should’ve asked my questions in a different way, but I didn’t. So, she’s angry with how I handled that. I was… being unfair. But I really can’t apologize right now, even though I want to. I really do have to go.”

Claude points his thumb over his shoulder to the entrance hall. “Unless you want to explain to Judith, the Hero of House Daphnel, why you’re taking up my time? Y’know, ‘cause then all three of us are gonna be in hot water. If you wanna share my pain, be my guest.”

Grumbling, Hilda says, “Yeah, no, I’m not gonna do that. But,” she pokes a finger into his chest. Jabs it, actually. _Ow. That manicured nail is sharp_, “when you come back, I _hope_ you have at least a verbal apology ready for the professor.”

“And an apology gift,” Dorothea notes.

“Why do I need to get her a gift too? Teach doesn’t care about material things. She seems more like a gesture type of person.”

Hilda clicks her tongue and shoos him away with a hand. “Go. Just go. I can’t look at you right now.” Dorothea only shakes her head at him before suggesting they go and try to find Byleth to see if she’s doing alright.

Claude leaves them and hurries over back to Judith. Sure enough, she scolds him for making her wait so long. He apologizes—because honestly, he _really_ doesn’t need or want more than one woman angry at him simultaneously—and follows along to the horses she has waiting in the marketplace. She mentions her battalion is taking a break in Mach Foothills. She only brings them as a precaution.

“Being that I’m the escort party to the duke’s grandson, it’s better to be over-prepared than under,” she reasons, once they’ve met up with her soldiers. “Now let’s get moving. I wanna make it at least halfway over the mountains by dusk.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, riding his horse beside hers.

He’s not upset anymore at the fact that Byleth wouldn’t tell him all she knew about her Crest. In fact, that’s not how he wanted to get the information that she has the major Crest of Flames. He knows she only said it to quell his frustration. Maybe it’s because of… her possible understanding that they’re sort of friends, and she doesn’t want her friend to be upset with her.

The guilt he felt before comes back with its own friends named Regret, and its smaller buddy, Self-Loathing.

And now he’s thinking maybe she really _doesn’t_ know anything, except whatever Hanneman tells her. She doesn’t know her own age, and didn’t even know of Garreg Mach since forever. Or that Jeralt was the famous Blade Breaker.

Hell, she didn’t even know what it was like to feel _excited_ about something.

Perhaps she really _is_ clueless. Or at least that sheltered. Killing is all she knows. A human weapon. One who doesn’t feel anything and exists only to follow orders of whatever noble pays her to do so. Something about that fact makes her whole existence… sad. She’s barely experiencing things other than taking lives, and just learning to feel emotions.

And today, Claude probably taught her what it’s like to feel angry.

_That’s not what I want to be credited with. But there’s no way around what’s already happened. I’ll have to make it up to her somehow. Maybe a breath of fresh air really is what I need to figure this out._

_  
  
  
_⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


While Byleth appreciates that Hilda and Dorothea wanted to cheer her up because she seemed upset, she told them it wasn’t necessary. What’ll do her some good is quiet. Which she doesn’t get because the lunch bell tolls again and some of her students catch up to her, asking her questions about next week’s lectures.

Lorenz is the only one who seems relieved Claude won’t be here for a week, at minimum. If his opinion of the house leader continues to be this sour, that might cause trouble if she needs to group them together again out on the battlefield.

But she can think about that later. Right now she just wants to forget Claude, and that frustrated tone of his. And so she goes about the rest of her evening, reviewing the paperwork Manuela and Hanneman gave her on where her newest students are at in their studies.

Routine makes the days pass by quickly. When the Verdant Rain Moon begins, the faculty have another meeting on that first Saturday of the month. It’s just after dinner, so nobody is irritated like some usually are before trudging through the nitty gritty of structured academia.

“I have reviewed all of the progress reports on your students,” Seteth says. “Overall, the classes are performing as they should. However,” he looks to Byleth, because of course she’d be the exception, “Professor Byleth, your class has grown even smaller.”

“…I know.” She goes on to explain why she had them transferred out, and why she allowed three new students to join in. Both Hanneman and Manuela nod along, seeming to understand her perspective (or maybe they’re happy to get the praise that they’re teaching their students well). The other professors just roll their eyes or shake their heads at her.

“While that may have been a wise decision,” Seteth folds his hands on the table’s surface, “I cannot allow you to have any more students transferred out of your class. The other Golden Deer professors already have their hands full with a maximum capacity of pupils. Therefore, should you agree to allow other more ‘advanced’ students into your roster, you cannot have them transferred out again. It is too much back and forth. You understand, yes?”

“I do,” she says with a nod. “But, I’m still new at teaching.” There’s no shame in admitting it. While she may have gotten better since her first day, there’s still a lot for her to learn. “I think having a smaller class will be good for me, at least in my first year here. And, I was considering to teach some of my students how to command a battalion; it’ll be easier since I have less pupils. Professor Jeritza had suggested it to me.”

She nods to the man sitting the furthest away from the group. He only stares at her, unblinking. He, along with Catherine, Shamir, and Alois attend their monthly meetings. On their off time, they also help teach students. They’re more like tutors in combat training rather than bookwork, but she supposes they also count as professors in their own right.

“I will review your request with the battalion guild master once you have submitted it,” Seteth replies. “I am not certain he will be keen to assigning battalions to mere students, but I suppose it would be good practice regardless. I recommend you only assign them to students who are more adept at strategy. The men and women in these battalions are not to be used for fodder.”

People left and right have just been taking jabs at her ever since the incident during the Rite of Rebirth. What’s their problem? She didn’t ask for this to happen. “I’ll make sure whoever is assigned a battalion, will know how to command them.”

The meeting goes on as usual, and when it’s complete, Byleth is the first one to gather her things and leave. She doesn’t make it more than a few steps outside of the conference room when Catherine catches up to her. “Hold on, Professor!”

She waits, turning around to acknowledge her. “Is there something I can do for you, Catherine?”

“Not for me, no.” She’s quiet for a moment, simply observing. “Seteth was kinda hard on you today.”

“When isn’t he?”

“True, but you’re normally not this tense during meetings.” Crossing her arms, she continues, “I’ll get straight to it. I think you could use a break. You’re the newest professor here, but I’ve never seen anyone work harder than you.”

“My students deserve a good instructor, and that’s what I’m trying to be. I don’t know anything about teaching, so I have to work extra hard so I can learn quickly.”

“I know, but, how are you planning to spend your free time tonight?”

“Grading papers.”

“And tomorrow on your leisure day?”

“Make the new lesson plan for the week. Do some chores around the monastery. Pick up a few requests from the community bulletin board, have a meeting with the battalion guild master, return some lost items that—”

“See? Work! Someone your age shouldn’t be _that_ busy.”

Byleth can’t think of anything to say in response, until she remembers the question she had wanted to ask Catherine. “I’m sure you know that I’m the new wielder of the Sword of the Creator.” The other woman nods, urging her to continue. “Well, I don’t know how to use it. I assume a Relic weapon is vastly different from a regular one. I don’t know what it does, what kind of caution I should take, how it’ll affect my body. So I wanted to ask if you’ll oversee my training with it. I know our swords are different, but, I want to get the hang of it sooner than later.”

Catherine hums thoughtfully. “You’ve come to the right place asking me, although, I’m unsure of how _much_ I’ll be able to help. I can give you a few pointers, and be there to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. But I don’t know what your sword does.”

“That’s fine. Any little bit helps.”

“Hold on,” she says with a smile, “I didn’t say I’d do it for free.”

“Oh, of course. You want money?” asks Byleth. “I can spare some of my coin and readjust my budget for this month.”

She gets a laugh out of Catherine. “You may be a teacher now, but at heart you’ll always be a merc, won’t you? No, I don’t want your money. I’ll help you train, but only if you have a drink with me tonight in town. You could _really_ use it.” As Byleth opens her mouth, Catherine quickly says, “I don’t wanna hear about your papers or whatever. No work talk. Just coworkers hanging out as friends.”

Friends? Is that what she thinks they are? She doesn’t really know Catherine, so calling them ‘friends’ is a bit of a stretch. Or… is it really that easy to make friends?

“I don’t know what that’s like, so I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“What?” Catherine looks at her with raised eyebrows. “You’re telling me you’ve never had friends? Seriously?”

Byleth gives a single nod. “I just consider everyone an acquaintance.”

This time, the other woman looks a bit sympathetic. “Makes sense. More accurate to what we are, I guess. Suppose a traveling mercenary group filled with older men isn’t really a place to make friends. At least not for a young woman like yourself. Though, I would’ve at least thought some of your students would be your friends. That Claude in particular.”

“Claude?”

No, she can’t consider him a… friend. But he is her partner. Is that the same thing? Or is that also off the table with how he was acting before he left? She’s not even sure if her students are allowed to be friends with her. Maybe some of them don’t even want to be. Maybe that’s how Claude feels. He won’t even tell her when his birthday is, for crying out loud.

“Ah, I’ve seen that look before,” Catherine says when Byleth is silent for too long. “Something happened between you two, didn’t it? An argument, maybe?”

Is it that obvious? Huh. Maybe she doesn’t like this development of her emotions starting to show on her face. “I guess you can call it that.”

“That sounds like something you ought to unload onto a friend—er, acquaintance. Or a few. What do you say we invite Shamir and Manuela with us? Just us ladies? The other professors I don’t really get along with too well, ha.”

“Okay,” because this can’t be too bad if this is all Catherine wants in exchange for helping her train with the Relic. “When should we go?”

“In about an hour. Meet up at the front of the entrance hall where that guy always is. The one who’s always smiling and cheerful. People call him ‘Gatekeeper’ or whatever.”

“Oh, Anthony. Okay.”

Catherine mumbles to herself off to the side, “Shit, that’s his name?” although not all that quiet since Byleth can hear every word she’s saying. “I’ve been calling him Andrew this whole time,” and then says to her, “Y-Yeah that guy! We can meet there. And we don’t need to be in town all night. Just for maybe a couple of hours or so, and get back before curfew.” She pats her on the shoulder before walking away. “I’ll see you then, Byleth.”

An hour doesn’t give her much time to do anything else except change out of the academy uniform. She opts for her usual outfit of lace stockings, shorts, and her black top. Is this ‘hanging out’ attire? It’s plain enough. Shouldn’t catch a lot of attention. And it’s a warm night, so this should keep her cool. But there’s nowhere to hide a dagger, so she might have to just use whatever brawling skills she learned growing up.

“You are going out on the town!” Sothis says as they leave her room. She floats next to her, keeping up with Byleth’s pace. “I am quite excited to see the nightlife of humans. While you are chatting up your coworkers, I shall be wandering about the tavern of choice. Although I did not expect you to be much of a consumer of alcohol or spirits.”

“I’m not, but I can hold my liquor. Even more than my father.”

“Well do not spend _all_ of your coin on whatever brew they happen to serve. And if you must get them, at least select the ones that are somewhat palatable. I can indirectly taste everything you consume, remember?”

“Ah right, I’m eating for two.”

Sothis makes such a loud, scandalized gasp that Byleth almost wants to laugh. The girl darts in front of her and covers her mouth with a hand, stopping them in their tracks. “What did I say about using that phrase aloud?! Oh, no more talking! Pretend I am not here! I will be silent and float beside or behind you! Goodness.”

Byleth doesn’t protest, and shuts her lip when she spots Catherine, Shamir, and Manuela already at the entrance hall. All of them are dressed out of their usual daily garbs and wear something more casual and comfortable for the summer evening. When they spot her, Catherine waves her down. “Nice, we’re all here now! Let’s get going.”

They’re given only three horses. Apparently Manuela doesn’t like riding them, and Catherine makes a comment she shouldn’t since she has a habit of getting wasted. Shamir tells Byleth that last time they went out, it was her job to carry Manuela back.

“You’re the newbie, so your turn,” is all she says as she swings herself over the saddle.

Manuela huffs. “I’m not that much of a bother! And you’re exaggerating how much I have to drink.”

“Every time you get your heart broken by a man, one of us has to carry you back here. Choose better men next time.”

“You can be so cold at times, Shamir. You know that, right?” She gets ignored so Manuela turns away from her, looking at Byleth expectantly. “I won’t be too much trouble for you, will I, Professor?”

“No, I don’t mind. Hop up.”

“I can’t quite do that with my heels, you see.”

Without a word, Byleth dismounts and lifts Manuela up high so she can get on the seat. The woman gives a quick yelp but hurriedly finds her spot on the saddle. “You’re… You’re quite strong!”

“So I’ve been told.”

The four women make their way down the mountainside, past the residential plots of land and the small farms, to Mach Foothills down below. Lit lamps make it glitter as the sun sets further and further down the horizon. By the time the sky has faded to purple, they arrive at one of the pubs. It’s located on a wide street that’s already occupied with a lot of people, and even some off-duty soldiers from the monastery.

“I have to say Professor,” Manuela starts as they find a table, “I’m happy that you’ll be joining us. I’ve really wanted to sit down and chat with you for a while. You’re the newest instructor here, yet I hardly know anything about you! Not even your favorite color!”

“Oh, well, it’s black. I think. Actually, I don’t know; I’ve never picked one before. And just call me Byleth. It sounds weird hearing ‘Professor’ from non-students.” Catherine sets down a large pitcher of ale and four mugs. Byleth pours herself some and then offers to pour for everyone else, which they all take.

“Then, to our newest coworker, Byleth!” Catherine cheers, holding up her pint. “And to many more ladies’ night outs!”

Shamir just hums and clinks her mug against the other three while Manuela gives an excited shout. All Byleth says is, “Cheers.” She’s only a little stunned to see Catherine and Manuela down their first pints before pouring themselves another one. Shamir follows right after, so Byleth does the same.

Sothis makes a comment on the ale being disgusting and says she’s going to hover around and eavesdrop on the other customers. Apparently it’ll distract her from the vague taste as Byleth keeps on drinking with that iron liver of hers. But a part of her is sure Sothis just likes being nosey.

“So, black is your favorite color, Byleth?” Manuela asks to start a conversation. “While a classy hue to be sure, I thought you’d go for something like…,” she stares at her hair, “blue. Oh, or maybe pink. I’ve noticed you have pink trims on a lot of your black clothes. Not on this one though.”

Giving light taps on Byleth’s bare shoulder with a finger, she adds, “And what a cute outfit you chose tonight! No straps, all shoulders, and a bit of your back. _A lot_ of your toned stomach too. And the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen!” Her painted lips curl into a teasing smile over the rim of her mug. “Trying to catch the attention of some fellow in here?”

“No. This is what I used to wear under my mercenary armor. So, it’s just my regular outfit, but without all the metal plates.”

“_Really_?” Manuela asks with wide eyes. “No wonder Seteth wanted you to be more ‘appropriate’ with your clothes when you first got here. Those lace tights would’ve surely sparked so many wild fantasies with the boys. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of your own students had thoughts like those.”

“Well,” Shamir looks into her mug as if examining it, swirling the little bit of alcohol left at the bottom, “she does have Sylvain on her roster.”

“Oh that guy’s a real horny piece of work,” Catherine starts. “He tried to hit on me last week and I wanted to slice him in half. Didn’t think I was his type, first of all. Made a comment about my legwork being ‘tantalizing’. What the hell does that even mean? I felt him staring at my ass too.”

She groans. “Why is he even in the academy? Isn’t he like, 20? Only six or so years younger than me, shit. You’re only a handful of years older than him too, Shamir!” She takes another long swig of her ale. “Yeah, I agree with Manuela. He’s probably had several wet dreams about you, Byleth. Wouldn’t doubt his palms have gotten rosy one too many times ‘cause of you too.”

She doesn’t know what that means, though Byleth is sure that there is some kind of rule of not talking shit about students. But maybe this is what teachers do after hours. Interesting.

Manuela starts up about some of the students who give her a hard time. That they shouldn’t have to do chores because of ‘nobility’ and stuff like her having the ‘audacity’ to ask them to dirty their hands. She has the handle on the mug in a vice grip as she rants. She mentions Edelgard is good at getting them to listen and begrudgingly accept their duties.

“But I can never tell what she’s thinking,” Manuela adds, huffing as she rests her chin on her hand. “She’s a good student, and will be a promising emperor, for sure. Just… I feel like she lacks… something. I can’t tell what it is.”

Taking another drink, Manuela says, “Oh, Byleth, I also wanted to thank you for accepting Linhardt and Bernadetta into your class. Those two are… a bit difficult to work with. Not that I haven’t tried my best. And goddess, did I try….”

“I don’t know why you’d thank me for that.”

Manuela mutters something under her breath as she runs a hand down her face. Shamir speaks for her. “Think she means all the problem kids are getting into your class for whatever reason. You’re making it easier on older professors.”

“I’m not _old_!” Manuela exclaims. “And I wouldn’t call them _problems_. They’re just… a little too much for me, especially when I have a full class. Although I am somewhat bummed they never quite warmed up to me. That Petra was a wonderful student, though. You better take good care of her, Byleth,” she says to her with a wagging finger. “And maybe you can figure out why Bernadetta is always so terrified of everything. Poor girl.”

“Well you’ve certainly made it easier on Hanneman,” Catherine says. “This morning at breakfast he was saying how relieved he is that Felix is in your class now. Guy can’t cooperate with most people, but he was a little calmer without Sylvain as his classmate. Although Felix seemed determined to be in your class, so Hanneman hopes that drive will temper him a bit.”

“He’s glad you took Sylvain off his hands too,” comments Shamir.

Manuela gives a laugh. Her cheeks are starting to grow pink. “That old timer nearly cried in relief when Sylvain transferred to the Golden Deer. He’s had to sort through one too many complaints from some of his female students; almost wrote home to Margrave Gautier telling him about his son’s behavior being a problem. But decided against it once Sylvain transferred. _Then_ he started worrying _again_ when he remembered you’re a young, sexy woman around the students’ ages.”

Catherine makes a face, scrunching up her nose. “Hanneman called Byleth ‘sexy’?”

“No no,” Manuela shoos her hand at her, “just young. Please, as if that man cares about anything other than his ‘research’.” She takes another deep chug of her ale, and exhales. She hangs her head and mutters something under her breath again, but Byleth can’t hear what it is.

Shamir stares at her, then takes a drink from her mug. “We don’t hate the students,” she notes, setting the mug down. “I know it sounds like we have a lot of gripes about them,” well, to be fair, Shamir really hasn’t said anything about any student, “but we have gripes about coworkers too.”

“I never said you hated them,” Byleth assures.

“No, but I can tell you were wondering if this was ‘ethical’. Talking negatively about students behind their backs. We do that with coworkers too—all of the faculty does. Just because we might be frustrated with them, doesn’t mean we care any less.”

“Yeah.” Catherine refills her mug from the pitcher. “We all gotta release some steam somehow. Our job is to look after these kids. Make them strong. And that’s what we’re gonna do, but we’re allowed to vent about the problems they cause too. Pretty sure the students have _a loooot_ of things to say about us as well.”

Then she looks at Byleth. “Though, for whatever reason, I don’t think I’ve ever heard one student talk shit about you. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re a kid too, and you’re more… mysterious than annoying. Any one of your students giving you problems, Byleth?”

She shakes her head. “No. They did in the beginning, but now they’re well-behaved. Or at least I think they are. The students who caused me the most problems transferred out early in the year. And those who I felt could learn better from a more experienced instructor, I recommended they change classes.”

“Makes sense,” Shamir says with a single-shouldered shrug. She takes another drink before she asks, “You getting along with your house leader? I ask because I caught Claude napping on the ground under a tree a few weeks ago. A poisonous spider was gonna drop on him. Shot an arrow at it, and startled him awake. He was kinda annoyed, then grateful. He needs to be more diligent and alert. Don’t let him slack off.”

Byleth takes a moment to stare at the handle of her mug. They do get along. Or, they used to. She’s not sure what happened to make him irritated with her ‘secrets’. The ones she _doesn’t_ have. And if she does have secrets, she sure would like it if somebody told her what those secrets _are_.

“…We get along, yes.”

At her quiet response, Manuela lifts her head, staring at her. “Oh, that look.” She wags another lazy finger at her. “I know that look all too well. The one where a man did something wrong. What’d he do, Byleth?”

“Oh that’s right!” Catherine slams her hand down on the table. “You were all mopey earlier when I brought up Claude.” Mopey? Did she really look mopey? He doesn’t affect her that much. …Does he? “What happened?”

“I need to hear this.” Manuela leans in closer. Byleth can smell the alcohol on her breath. “Was he being inappropriate like that Sylvain? Pulled a prank on you? Pissed you off by being defiant and not doing his work?”

“He hasn’t done any of those things,” she defends. “He’s a good student; always gets high marks on everything, and doesn’t make advances at me like Sylvain does. But…”

“Yep,” Catherine comments, “heard that ‘but’ coming a mile away.”

Byleth burns holes into her mug with her stare. She’d much rather talk about this with Claude when he gets back. But right now that weight is still there. The one in her chest. Making her feel like she just wants to sit all day and not get up.

“No,” she starts, changing her mind. “I want to resolve this with him. He’s away right now doing something for his grandfather. It can wait.”

“Are you sure?” asks Catherine. “Because you know we meant it when we said it’s okay to vent about your students every now and again. We’re not gonna force you to chat if you don’t want, but…”

“I’m sure,” she says with a nod.

Manuela groans. “Was looking forward to some gossip.” She lifts her head, looking over Byleth to the right. One of the barmaids brings a full pitcher of ale, setting it on their table. “What’s this?”

“Compliments from those fellows over there!” she says, pointing her thumb to a table further down in the tavern. A group of burly men wink at them. Manuela flutters her eyelashes, wiggling her fingers in their direction, until the barmaid says, “Oh, I meant they bought this pitcher for this lass here,” she says, gesturing to Byleth.

“Me?”

Whining loudly, Manuela bangs her fists once on the table. Catherine laughs. “Well look at you! First night out and already you’ve got men wanting to buy you drinks. Wish they’d buy _me_ one….”

Byleth stands up and takes the pitcher with her. She ignores Catherine and Manuela telling her to bring it back, while Shamir just watches silently. As she’s approaching the table, the men notice and start grinning, undressing her with their eyes as she walks their way. Her stomach churns at the thought.

_Oh, wait. I’ve seen them before. These… are the men who were trying to hurt Claude._

Her grip tightens on the handle of the pitcher. Setting it down, she says, “Thank you, but I can buy my own drinks.” People don’t just give other people things for free. Everything is an exchange of some kind. Whether material or intangible. And she’s been in enough bars, pubs, and taverns to know what it means when a man buys a woman a drink. Probably means the same thing when three men buy a sole woman a pitcher of ale.

Unfortunately for them, she’s not that naïve.

And she’d never accept any kind of gift from people who would hurt her students. Who would hurt her partner.

“Huh?” The first one looks at it, confused. “We got that for you, sweetheart.”

“Like I said, I can buy my own drinks.” She doesn’t miss the way they leer at her, eyes lingering too long on her thighs and breasts. A small part of her wants to hurl now. “You should share it among yourselves. And please, don’t call me ‘sweetheart’.”

Only two people are allowed to give her nicknames. And these men aren’t named ‘Jeralt’ or ‘Claude’.

“Just take the damn thing,” the second man says.

Byleth shakes her head. “No. I’m not interested. I can’t, and won’t, give you what you’re seeking in return.” At least, she’s sure that’s what they want. Unless she’s completely off mark. In that case, she should’ve never walked over here. “Use this pitcher yourselves. Or buy another woman a drink. Good-bye.”

As she turns to leave, one of the men grabs her wrist. “Ya think you can just come over here and—,” then he yells as Byleth swerves around him and knocks him off his feet. He falls face-first onto the floor and she twists his arm behind him, her knee planted firmly along his back.

“Don’t touch me,” she says evenly. She tugs on his arm even tighter. “I don’t like being touched by strangers. Especially a gang of men who would beat up a kid in an alleyway.”

He grumbles, “The hell you talking about? Get off me!”

One of his cohorts stares at her, then gasps. “Wait, ain’t this that bitch who tossed us around before?” Amazing how quickly their sickly sweet nicknames erode into something rancid.

She thinks she hears Sothis from somewhere in the back, scolding her for being so reckless. A flash of green flying her way probably means she’s about to get another lecture. On the other end of her companions, Manuela is drunkenly cheering her on, shouting at her to kick their asses.

“Hey, yeah you’re right!” the third one says. “You got a lot of nerve strutting over here dressed like a whore, thinking you’re hot shit!” Both of the men stand, towering over her as she continues to have the other one pinned on the ground.

They’re much taller than her, and bigger too. But she can use their weight against them with her agile reflexes. She can slowly get up from this guy and then toss a kick at the other’s groin to—

“I would stay right where you are, if I were you,” Catherine warns as she marches over, looking furious. Byleth gets off the first man and stands beside her. “Go get some air, the three of you. Otherwise we’re gonna have some problems.”

“And who the hell’re you?!” the second man says. His speech is a little slurred, and the eyes of all three men look bloodshot. Exactly how much have they had to drink? “Ya wanna have a go at us too? Are all women with tight asses this bitch—”

Catherine unsheathes her iron sword in a blink of an eye, and holds the point of it under the man’s chin. “Go on. Finish that sentence, pal. See what happens.”

There’s a bead of sweat that trickles down the side of his face, and the other two men don’t move. Catherine keeps her predatory focus on all of them, and Byleth notices the tavern has gotten eerily quiet. She spots Sothis watching from a corner of the ceiling. The girl looks upset, but she can’t tell if it’s toward Byleth, or at the men who tried to start something with her.

When they don’t move from where they stand, Catherine slowly lowers her sword. “That’s what I thought. Get the hell outta here before I kick your asses through the door myself.” When they stay put, she tries again. “_Now_.”

Reluctantly, the men stumble around the tavern and out the door, but not before casting glares their way. When they leave, the noise starts up again in the room. A few people raise their glasses to Catherine and Byleth, maybe thanking them for getting rid of the ruckus.

“You okay?” Catherine asks her.

“I’m fine. You didn’t need to help me though. I had a handle on it.”

“Those men were being pieces of shit. I wasn’t gonna let you take them on by yourself. Didn’t like how they were looking at you, either.”

“Well… thank you then, for assisting me.”

Catherine smiles, nodding. “Anytime.” She pats her shoulder. “We better get back. Manuela is getting a little too tipsy again. Shamir can’t hold down the fort forever.”

As Byleth is walking out the door with her three companions, Sothis hovers in front of her, fists clenched at her sides. She gives her an angry stare, but doesn’t say anything. Instead she disappears in a burst of glittering dust, returning back into their shared mind space.

_Once again, you were not thinking! I know those were the men who tried to hurt Claude, but you cannot just go roughhousing wherever you please! You are not a barbarian! As much as I think they deserved it, the space inside was too condensed with people. You could have risked hurting someone underserving of it._

_Yeah, I know. You’re right._

_Of course I am!_

Byleth helps Manuela onto the horse before she jumps on the saddle herself. The older woman wraps her arms tightly around her waist and starts ranting about no-good men and how dare they try to lay a hand on a ‘young maiden’ like herself. Shamir congratulates her for dealing with them. Catherine makes a comment about Byleth being able to take them on single-handedly, but she also says something similar to what Sothis did about bystanders. It makes her wonder if it was truly the best approach to provoke a fight in the tavern.

After a while of riding back up to the monastery, Sothis speaks again.

_I am glad you are all right._

_I can take care of myself._

_Yes, I am fully aware of the fact. But you are no longer solitary, Byleth. You have others who are willing to help you when it is needed. And also, you have others who you cannot endanger. Please, the next time you should get into a scuffle, remember that you might not be the only one within the vicinity of the violence._

_Catherine, Shamir, and Manuela are strong. They can handle themselves._

_They are not your students, however. And should something like this happen around your still inexperienced pupils, please proceed with caution. I know you do when in the thick of battle, but apparently, you must now also be aware of danger even during daily outings._

When Sothis falls silent again, Byleth does too. She just listens to Manuela’s slurred mumbling as Catherine hums a tune. Shamir is quiet, but she’s always eyeing their surroundings, no doubt looking for any signs of danger within the night hours.

Luckily, they don’t find it. A sleepy atmosphere blankets the monastery when they get to the marketplace. The clops of the horse’s hooves boom around the vacant space, and it’s what alerts Anthony to their presence. He doesn’t seem all that surprised to find Manuela drunk (“A few times I had to take her back to her room myself….”) and tells them he’ll return the horses to the stables.

His shift has just ended—a little later than usual, apparently, and he greets the other soldier who comes to replace him. “Professor, this is my twin brother, Andrew. He has the night shifts.” Catherine’s mouth falls open and her eyes grow wide in the background, mouthing something along the lines of, ‘what the fuck’.

“Nice to meet you, Professor,” he greets with a smile. “And have a good night! You should really get back to your quarters. You too, Anthony.”

“I will, I will!”

Shamir hops off her horse. “Catherine and I will take the horses back. You should drop Manuela off at her room. Or the infirmary.”

“She’s gonna be cranky when she wakes up,” Catherine says with a laugh. “But this was a fun evening, wasn’t it? Kinda wish we could’ve fought those guys, but probably better that we didn’t. We gotta do this again sometime. ‘Night, Byleth!”

The two of them take the horses around the other side of the staircase. Anthony offers to accompany her to Manuela’s room so she’s not by herself. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him no, so they walk together in comfortable silence.

“I didn’t know you had a twin brother,” Byleth tells him when they’re in the faculty building.

“Oh yeah, I do! He’s the older one between us. I have the day shifts, from seven in the morning to seven at night. Then he takes up the rest! That’s why most people don’t know about him.”

Anthony takes off his helmet and the hood of his chainmail. He sighs, ruffling his short brown hair. The color matches his eyes. “In the winter, I have it easier during the day with the weather. But now, in the summer? Oh boy, he’s pretty relaxed with the warm nights! I can’t say the same thing for me standing in the hot sun….”

When they finally get to Manuela’s quarters, Anthony opens the door while Byleth carries her inside. As always, the woman’s room is a complete mess. Clothes strewn about everywhere, empty liquor bottles peeking out from the corner of the wardrobe, papers thrown haphazardly onto the desk. But it’s not her business to tell people how they should keep their living spaces.

Gently she sets Manuela down on her bed. She finally comes around again, the smell of alcohol strong on her breath. She gives a lazy gasp upon seeing Anthony. “An’ who’s _this_ charmin’ fellow? He’s quite handsome! Y’come here t’give me some company?” she teases, winking.

“Uh,” Anthony gives her a nervous smile, “no Miss Manuela! It’s just me, Gatekeeper.”

She squints, leaning forward to get a better look at him. “Gatekeeper? That guy who’s always standin’ guard at the entrance? No, couldn’t be. I’ve passed him maaany times an’ his hair’ssilver.”

_Must be thinking about his helmet._ Byleth helps Manuela out of her heeled shoes and her coat, just letting her sleep in whatever dress she’s currently wearing. Meanwhile, Anthony finds a pitcher with some water and pours some into a cup. He hands it to Manuela and she downs it like she would a mug full of beer.

“Pruhfess,” she starts, “than’ you fer being such a sweet lil’ thing. No wonder yer students like ya s’much.” Then she starts sobbing, hugging Byleth’s arm. “Why can’t more men be like you?!” she cries. “Lots of ‘em are jus’ like those three big trolls from th’ bar and—”

Byleth lets her cry and vent. Anthony sits on the other side of Manuela, trying his best to ease her sorrows. Then she starts sobbing into _his_ shoulder and he’s kind of frozen, not sure what to do. Manuela complains about his armor, knocking on the shoulder plate with her fist. Says how she wishes she could hold him and feel his warmth. To be close enough to smell his ‘musk’.

And at that, Anthony gives a nervous laugh, carefully scooting away from her. He clumsily says it’s getting late and they should probably be going. Byleth agrees with him, but doesn’t leave until Manuela knocks out on her pillow. Her makeup has run down her cheeks and around her eyes after all the crying. Some of it smudges on the pillow.

The two of them quietly exit her room and softly shut the door. Anthony gives a sigh of relief as they walk away. “She was extra handsy tonight. She usually doesn’t pay me much mind, but I guess she’s never seen me without my helmet.”

“I’ve never seen you without it either,” Byleth notes. “It’s nice to finally see your whole head. You have a nice face. ‘Cute’ is how I would describe it.”

His cheeks redden immensely and he makes that nervous chuckle again. “O-Oh, uh, thank you, Professor! A-And I hope I’m not out of line by saying you also look lovely tonight—not that you don’t during the day! Or um, like every day! Because you’re not ugly or anything and w-well actually I think you’re really beautiful but I just—oh gosh, Anthony just put a sock in it…!”

Now he’s covering his face with a hand. He has a solid grip on his helmet with the other one. “Sorry, Professor. I just wanted to pay you back the compliment—well, it’s more of a fact that you _are_—I mean I’m not trying to be weird or—ugh, I should just… button my lip….”

“Anthony, it’s okay.” Byleth pats his arm. “I’m not scandalized or anything. Your face looks like it’s going to melt, so just take a little breather.”

He does so, inhaling loudly and exhaling again. “Yeah, okay. I feel a little better now. Thank you, Professor.”

“You can call me Byleth,” she says.

“By-leth,” he says to himself, whispering it quietly under his breath. Anthony hums, nodding. “I can… do that. Although I might forget and keep calling you, ‘Professor’,” he admits sheepishly.

“That’s fine. I just want you to know that you can.”

“Well, thanks! I’ll try to remember to call you by your name more often.”

The two of them walk on in silence until they reach the dormitories. Apparently just realizing, Anthony apologizes, saying he had meant to walk back to the barracks, but he liked Byleth’s quiet company.

“I really don’t mind,” she assures him. “It was nice chatting with you, especially since we don’t really get to during the day.”

“Yeah, yeah it was nice, wasn’t it?” He beams at her. “Thank you for letting me keep you company. And uh, well you’ve made it safely to your room so,” he stands to attention, saluting her, “my job has officially ended for the day! Have a good night, Prof—er, Byleth!”

“Good night, Anthony. Sleep well.”

“You too!”

He leaves in a hurry after that, probably wanting to get the barracks as soon as possible. She doesn’t know if the Knights of Seiros have earlier curfews than everyone else in the monastery. Maybe. They do have to be the most alert after all.

She wonders if she can call Anthony her friend. Byleth doesn’t know him all that well, but she thinks if she were to ever have a friend, she’d want one like him. One who isn’t always questioning her about a heritage she never knew she had, and who believes her when she says she doesn’t know anything about… anything, instead of accusing her of keeping secrets that she’s unaware of.

Once Claude gets back, she’ll have a proper chat with him. But for now, she just wants tomorrow to already get here, and for these ugly feelings to fade away in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A while back, a reader asked if I could have Byleth interact more with the faculty units. Since female characters don't get as much love in this fandom compared to the male ones, I wanted to do something with just the ladies. I hope you liked this chapter, whoever it was that asked me for this!
> 
> Gatekeeper actually does have a twin brother, canonically. But I forgot who was the younger and older of the two. You only meet him post-timeskip if you do the Crimson Flower route.
> 
> Today is a special day. Wanna know why? _Animal Crossing: New Horizons_ is finally here!! I bought it digitally last night, and I'm loving everything about it. (It's sooo addicting. Lmao) I also bought the special edition Switch for it, since I couldn't help myself. It was just too cute to pass up. 😔 Everyone else who's playing it, I hope you're all enjoying your island adventure!
> 
> Still not finished writing the Chapter 30 draft. I have about half of it done. This week wasn't really optimal for me to write like I normally do. I'll try to have it done within the next couple of days. But if I feel like I'm still lagging behind, I might take another week-long hiatus soon. Not a concrete decision I've come to yet. If I do end up taking one, remember you can always [check my Twitter](https://twitter.com/pnkpchs) for confirmation, as it might simply be I'm not done editing the next chapter on a Friday and will post it later or on Saturday.
> 
> To continuing readers, thanks so much for sticking with me this far into my fanfiction! To new readers, thanks for getting all the way up to this point! And once again, thank you all for the kudos! Over 420 of them! Nice. 😎
> 
> For now, I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	26. XXVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Claude reflects on his spat with Byleth, and decides to make it up to her when he returns. Meanwhile, Catherine thinks Byleth could use a break and invites her for a night out on the town with Shamir and Manuela. It's there she learns instructors often vent about their students and fellow coworkers in private. They encourage her to join in about Claude when Catherine brings him up, but she declines; she'd rather solve this with him personally. During their chat, Byleth is gifted a pitcher of ale from a trio of men across the tavern. She returns it to them and then notices they're the same ones who tried to hurt Claude before. Things go south as she nearly gets into a fight before Catherine intervenes and dissolves the situation. Back at the monastery, Byleth and an off-duty Anthony help a drunken Manuela to her room. They leave just as her inebriated state has her hitting on him, causing him some discomfort. He embarrasses himself after Byleth compliments his looks without his helmet, and then promptly leaves. His sunny disposition has her wondering if she could have someone like him as a friend.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXVI ⧽  
  
Some Friendly Advice

**_5th of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1180 ━_ **

A few days ago, Judith had sent a letter to the monastery. It said that Claude would return by Thursday evening of the current week. The roundtable conference is taking longer than planned because of the nobles’ inability to compromise with everyone else in the room. (Although this is normal, apparently.)

Byleth can’t exactly say she misses him. But she is anxious to confront him about their little argument.

Right now, however, she’s trying to find Felix. He didn’t go back to the classroom after the lunch hour. Some people said that he probably went to the training grounds, but he isn’t there when she looks. Others suggest he might’ve gone to his dorm. Upon coming to the door she’s sure is his, she knocks a few times.

“What?” comes his familiar, sharp tone. “Who is it?”

“Felix, it’s me. Byleth.”

There’s a pause before he opens the door. When he only stares at her, likely expecting a reason, she says, “You didn’t return to class after lunch. Is everything okay?”

Looking both ways down the hallway, he yanks her inside the room by the arm, quickly shutting the door. He glares at the doorknob, then turns to her. “Have you heard?”

“About what?”

“My father is here at the monastery.” He crosses his arms. “Some soldiers were talking about it during lunch.”

When he doesn’t offer anything else up, Byleth suggests, “Do you not want to see him?”

“No,” he replies. “So don’t tell him where I’m at. Actually, I’ll probably be gone by the time you run into him, but still. He knows I switched houses, and he’ll want to talk to you seeing as you’re now ‘in charge’ of my training.”

She doesn’t know why he’s adamant at not speaking with his father. Something had to have happened. From what she knows of him so far, Felix isn’t one to run and hide. Whatever bad blood is between him and his parent, that’s not her business unless he wants it to be.

“Okay, I won’t say anything,” she agrees. “But you still need to make up those few hours you missed of lecture.”

“Fine. I’ll ask Lysithea or something. She’s always writing every apostrophe and period down on her notes. Though I’m really not looking forward to her trying to shove another piece of cake down my throat.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “Now I suggest you leave, Professor. I don’t want people thinking you were in here alone with me for scandalous reasons. That’s Sylvain’s fantasy, not mine.”

Which implies he still _does_ have fantasies of some kind. But whether about her, or someone else, or maybe fantasies about swords or whatever, she doesn’t need to know.

Felix narrows his eyes at her. “I know what you’re thinking because of how I worded that. No, I’m not attracted to you. I’m here at the academy to hone my skills. Not waste time with frivolous things like teenage romance or sexual escapades.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” she lies.

“Sure you weren’t. Anyway, like I said, it’s probably best if you leave before anyone sees you.”

Byleth takes the recommendation and tells him she expects for him to be caught up by tomorrow. He assures her that he will, and then mutters another thing about dreading the sight of cake, for whatever reason.

On her way to the dining hall, she runs into Ingrid. She hasn’t really spoken to her throughout the past couple of months. She’s just as diligent as Felix is with training. That much she knows since she’s caught her sparring with him several times before. Dimitri had also said she’s determined to be a knight, and Byleth won’t find anyone more dutiful.

“Professor, hello,” Ingrid greets. She frowns a bit, looking concerned. “Ah, well this is good timing. I actually wanted to speak with you.”

“What about?”

“You… haven’t heard?”

“That Felix’s father is here?”

Ingrid nods. “Yes, Lord Rodrigue. But that isn’t what I wanted—well actually, now that he’s been brought up, I should tell you that Felix and his father don’t… quite get along. Mostly one-sided on Felix’s part. It’s not my business to say why, but, you should know that much.”

She kind of figured that might be the case. Although hearing the animosity is coming more from Felix than his father really makes her wonder. “Thank you, Ingrid.”

“Of course.” She stares down at her boots, crossing her arms. “And I also wanted to talk to you about Sylvain.”

“He hasn’t racked up any harassment complaints, if that’s what you were going to ask.”

The girl rolls her eyes at the mention. “Oh I’m aware, Professor. I’m usually the one who has to clean up his messes, so I’d know if yet another girl, her boyfriend, _or_ her father wanted to castrate him.” The annoyance washes away from her face as she continues, “But this time… it’s not about a girl. Do you know why Lord Rodrigue is here?”

“Should I?”

“So you don’t know why he’s here….” Ingrid’s grip tightens on her arms, and it looks more like she’s hugging herself now than being cross. “Well, Lord Rodrigue came to report to Lady Rhea in place of Margrave Gautier, Sylvain’s father. The Gautier family Relic, the Lance of Ruin, has been stolen. And the culprit is apparently Sylvain’s older brother, Miklan.”

Byleth didn’t even know Sylvain had any siblings. Although, with his behavior, it makes sense he’d be the younger between however many he has. Actually, she did notice Sylvain was quieter after lunch. Usually when she calls on him to answer a question, he responds with enthusiasm. But today she had to ask him twice since he didn’t hear her the first time. He was even sitting in Claude’s seat, one of the closest possible placements to her.

“He was acting a little mellow during the latter half of class,” she tells Ingrid.

A hum and a nod is what she gets from the other student. “Yes, that… sounds right.” She sighs, and then looks to Byleth. “Professor, I’m not saying to take it easy on Sylvain, but, maybe for right now, you could give him some time to himself. I have a bad feeling that this conflict with his brother won’t… end well.”

“Is that another thing you have no business telling me?”

She nods. “If Sylvain wants to talk, he will.” With a light huff, she gives a small smile. Not big enough to look relieved, but she does look a little calmer. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say to you. I don’t want to take up more of your time. Thank you for listening.”

As she turns away to leave, Byleth says, “Wait, Ingrid.”

“Yes, Professor?” she responds, looking curious.

“You weren’t taking up my time. And actually, I wanted to ask if you’d want to join me for dinner? It’s just about time anyway.”

“Oh!” She looks a little stunned, as if it was never a possibility Byleth would want to eat with her. “Well, yes but, I just don’t know why you’d want to spend time with me. I’m not in your class.”

“If I’m being honest, I’d like to chat with you about Sylvain and Felix. Not about what we just discussed, but, if you have anything to share about their behavior that I should be aware of now that I have them both in my class, I’d appreciate it. Also, the few times they’ve spoken about you, it’s been with familiar fondness. Dimitri also gave you high praises as well.”

Her cheeks turn a bit pink as she smiles. “Ah, I see. I guess I can understand why they’d talk about me like that. All four of us have been friends for a very long time. As much trouble as they give me—except His Highness; I never have to worry about him—I have to say I’m fond of them too.”

“Then shall we go get some dinner? I’ve heard you’re a pretty big eater.”

Ingrid’s face reddens further. “Oh goddess, they _would_ bring that up, wouldn’t they? Professor, don’t let them paint me like some kind of hog. I’m just… _really_ appreciative of all kinds of food. From appetizers to desserts, and from the cuisine of Fódlan to even lands beyond Brigid! Although I’ve never had anything but Fódlan cuisine. Food is just…”

“Good?”

“Y-Yes.”

“I can understand. I like to eat a lot myself; I don’t think there’s a food I don’t like.”

That makes her smile wide. But neither of them get the chance to continue their conversation once Seteth heads toward them. Byleth has a feeling an impromptu meeting with Rhea is about to happen, so she tells Ingrid, “It looks like we’ll have to spend a dinner some other day.”

When Ingrid sees Seteth, she hums in understanding. “Well, thank you for inviting me regardless, Professor. But yes, one day, we should sit down and just chat. Have a good evening,” she says with a bow before walking away.

Byleth tenses a bit when Seteth tells her that Rhea would like to speak with her. He talks with her like how he normally does, but she can’t get over the fact that he still doesn’t trust her, and will take any opportunity to remind her of his displeasure with her role in everything that’s happened thus far.

_What did I even do to him?_

“I know our meetings are usually on the weekends,” he says as they head up the stairs to the audience chamber, “but this is a special case. We had been pondering on what would be your class’ monthly assignment. Then Lord Rodrigue appeared, and Lady Rhea has come to a decision.”

When they arrive at the audience chamber, Rhea is speaking with a man dressed in mostly blue attire. The trimmings of some areas along the thick fabric are lined with fur. Like clothes one would wear in a snowy landscape. She doesn’t need to guess who it is; the man looks an awful lot like Felix, even with his wavy hair that settles on his shoulders. A much older man than her student, sure, and with a thin beard, but the resemblance is there around the eyes and the nose.

“Ah, Professor,” Rhea greets, smiling. “We were just speaking of you. Please, let us go into the office to get acquainted.”

Seteth takes his usual spot by the archbishop in the smaller room. Looking to Byleth, the woman says, “Professor, this is Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Felix’s father. He is also one of the highest ranking nobles in all of Faerghus, his house being second only to the royal family.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a smile. He holds out his hand for a shake, and she takes it. “I’ve heard about you, the young professor of the academy. The daughter of the legendary Blade Breaker Jeralt. And, apparently the new master of the Sword of the Creator.”

“Yes,” she replies. “I’m Byleth Eisner. It’s nice to meet you, Lord Rodrigue.”

“Please, ‘Rodrigue’ is fine enough. I’ve also been told that you’re Felix’s new professor. How is he faring?”

“Well, he just transferred to my class. I haven’t gone on an assignment with him yet, so, I couldn’t tell you how he’s doing. But he keeps up with his training. He’s much more eager to do that than book studies.”

“I’m not surprised. In Faerghus, many upcoming knights spend a lot of time with their weapon of choice over their other studies. By any chance,” he starts suddenly, “do you know where Felix is? I haven’t been able to catch him yet.”

“No,” she lies for the second time that day.

“Ah.” The man frowns with a disappointed hum. “Well, I’ll find him eventually.”

Rhea takes over the conversation from there. She pretty much explains what Byleth already knew from Ingrid. Miklan stole the Gautier Relic weapon. His father, Margrave Gautier, asked a favor from Rodrigue to report to the church in his stead. Something about not wanting to leave the territory for security reasons, especially now that the Relic is gone.

“We would like to send your class to retrieve it,” Rhea says. That earns her a surprised look from Rodrigue. Maybe he had been expecting the Knights of Seiros to handle this. Honestly, that’s what Byleth would’ve thought too. “You having the Sword of the Creator will be the best chance to retrieve the Lance of Ruin safely. As you know, Relic weapons contain incredible power.”

She holds her tongue on asking why they can’t send Catherine instead. “I still haven’t used it; I don’t know how to wield it.”

“And that is understandable. But you will have all of this month to practice. Catherine can even oversee your training. Would you like me to ask her for you, Professor?”

“No, that’s alright. I’ve already asked her, and she agreed to do it.”

Rhea smiles, nodding. “I am pleased to see you are taking initiative to learn how to responsibly hone its power.”

“Lady Rhea,” starts Rodrigue, “I mean no disrespect, but, are you certain about sending the professor and her class to fight Miklan?”

“I can see how this might seem absurd,” Rhea agrees, “but I have faith that Professor Byleth will be successful. The goddess shall be watching over her and her class. They might be students, but they are more capable than, well, perhaps all the other classes combined. A notable feat, as she only has 14 of them on her roster.”

Rodrigue looks like he wants to protest at the mention of such a small number being sent into the lion’s den. Instead he nods his consent with the slightest bit of hesitation. “Then, I will leave it in the hands of the professor and her class.”

She gets more information on the assignment: where Miklan is hiding, how many men he has at his disposal according to field reports from scouts, and a map of the surrounding terrain. Seteth notes that Miklan doesn’t stay in one location for more than a single day or even only a couple of hours, so they can only track his movements for now. They’ll keep in contact with the scouts to see where Miklan’s hideout is. He has to head back to his base of operations eventually, wherever it may be.

The meeting is cut there as Rhea doesn’t want to take more time away from Byleth’s dinner hour. But Byleth can’t say she has much of an appetite now. She needs to learn how to use the Sword of the Creator before the mission. And not only is she a little miffed about the time constraint, but she’s also confused why the Knights of Seiros can’t just deal with Miklan and his band of thieves.

_I’ll definitely have to discuss battalions in the next lecture, and start assigning them to some of the students. Archery too, just in case._

It might also be a good idea for her and her class to learn basic healing magic. She’ll have to collaborate with Manuela on a seminar. Though Marianne and Lysithea do just fine with healing their allies on the battlefield, they might not always be nearby to mend any wounds or afflictions. Plus, they’d also have to defend themselves with their offensive spells.

Well, she does have Linhardt on the roster now. And from what she’s read of his progress report from his previous class, he’s the best healer of the Black Eagles house. But she knows he’d be too lazy to try and have a seminar himself to share the skills he’s learned. Manuela it is, then.

“So much to do this month.” After dinner tonight, she’ll have to plan out everything on her calendar. But that’s a future task, as the current one is to find Sylvain and tell him of the mission. Though Ingrid had told her to leave him alone for a while, she still wants to give him a head’s up.

She asks around if anyone has seen him. Some people say they saw him go to the stables, but when she gets there, others tell her he hasn’t stopped by. One stable hand says he thinks he saw him go into the knight’s hall.

When she arrives, she doesn’t need to look any further. Sylvain is sitting on one of the couches near the fireplace. He stares into the flames, and idly she wonders why the fireplace is lit in the first place. It’s summer, and the evening is still pretty warm. Or, well, maybe it’s for lighting. Isn’t he hot then sitting so close?

“Sylvain.”

At the sound of his name, he blinks out of whatever thoughts had been muddling his mind. He gives Byleth a casual smile. “Hey, Professor. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to speak with you.”

He looks back at the flames. “So you’ve heard. About my brother.”

Byleth sits down next to him. “I have. But I don’t expect you to tell me anything you don’t want to share. I only came here to tell you that Lady Rhea has assigned our class with retrieving the Relic.”

Sylvain turns to her with widened eyes. “Us? Really?” He huffs, still looking incredulous. “Then I guess apologies are in order.”

“For what?”

“Because my brother is causing trouble, and now I—_we_ have to go and clean up the mess he made. I wonder how he’ll react knowing I’m in the group tasked with taking him down.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want. I’ll understand.”

He shakes his head. “I’m going; I know how to handle him. Though I haven’t seen him for a few years. Don’t know how much my words will help. But in the event we have to fight him—which we will, I’m sure, I want to be there.”

“Okay.” She pauses, staring at her knees. Then she asks, “I know I’m just your professor, and my role is to teach you academic lessons and combat skills. But… if you want to talk about anything, then, I will listen. And it will stay between us. I don’t know what kind of advice I’ll be able to offer, but, my ears are open. And you can lean on my shoulder if you’d like.”

At first he doesn’t do anything but stare. Then he smiles, and his head plops down onto her shoulder. He looks a little awkward bent like that. He really is much taller than her. “Well then, Professor, thank you so much for offering me a place to rest.”

“I didn’t mean it literally,” though she doesn’t care to move or shove him away.

“Aww, but your shoulder is so cozy,” he comments. He gives her a smile, a wider one this time. Then he sits back up, saying, “For real though, thank you, Professor. If I ever need it, I’ll seek you out if I wanna talk about anything. And, likewise, you can talk to me about stuff too.”

“Don’t have anything to talk about, though.”

He hums, settling into the couch. Sylvain lays his arm along the back rest. “You sure? Hilda said you were upset the other day when Claude left. Something about him making you angry.”

“Ah, that.” Byleth didn’t want to overthink it more than necessary. But Claude is returning soon, so she can’t ignore it forever. Especially since she needs to figure out how to bring up the topic with him. “He was being… pushy. About my Crest. But I don’t know a lot about it, since I never even knew I had one.”

He nods, signaling for her to continue. Should she be telling him this? She didn’t even want to tell Catherine or the others during their night out. (Hell, she hasn’t even told Jeralt.) But Sylvain seems like he’d be able to offer some kind of advice. He’s good at encouraging the younger students, and supporting their endeavors. Maybe… in some way, he’ll try to do the same with her, despite her being his instructor.

“I told him I had the Crest of Flames,” she continues. “But that’s all I know. He didn’t believe me, and he even sounded a bit irritated _because _that’s all I knew, and it… didn’t feel great. Lady Judith arrived before we could have a proper discussion about it. If I seemed off for the past week, it’s because of that. So, I’m sorry. But it won’t happen again, and I’ll get back to focusing on class.”

“Professor, why are you apologizing for being mad? It’s understandable.”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I shouldn’t let that impact my work, I guess.”

Sylvain gives a tired laugh, shaking his head. “Well I haven’t noticed a quality drop in your lectures. You’ve just been quieter, which is saying a lot, considering. And it’s normal to feel upset when you argue with a friend.”

“You think Claude is my friend?”

“I mean…,” now Sylvain looks genuinely confused, “isn’t he? He is, right? I can’t think of any other word to call that dynamic between you two. I know you’re our professor, but like, you’re still a kid. Like the rest of us. Not a _kid_ kid, but still young. Gah,” he runs a hand through his hair, “well you know what I mean!”

Byleth picks at a thread along the seam of her skirt. “I’ve never had friends, so, I don’t know how to tell. People are either just my father, or… other people. Allies, acquaintances, clients, coworkers, students.”

When she looks at him again, he’s frowning. A mildly sympathetic expression crosses his face as he says, “So you’ve just been… alone? This whole time? For x-number of years?”

She nods. “Just me, my father, and the mercenary company.” And Sothis, but only until recently. That’s also not information Sylvain needs to know.

“You’ve seriously lived your whole life not having any friends…,” he says quietly.

“Is that bad?” she asks sincerely.

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, some people don’t _want_ friends. Felix seems like that, but I know he secretly likes having us around. Just knowing we’re there. Me, Ingrid, Dimitri—despite how much grumbling he does about him.”

Looking at her, he asks, “Would you like to have friends, Professor?”

_Does _she want friends? She’s never had any, so she wouldn’t know what it’s like to feel the loss of not having them anymore. And from what she understands, friendship is a natural occurrence. A thing that cannot be forced, because then it’s not friendship.

Had some part of her believed that Claude was her friend? And that’s why she’s upset? Maybe… he doesn’t see them as friends. Is a partner different than being a friend? Is that just a different form of a coworker? He must not want to be her friend. He won’t even tell her when his birthday is.

“Professor? You okay? You look a little… upset.”

“Do friends tell each other their birthdays?”

“Uh,” he starts, sounding unsure, “yes? I mean, I think so? That’s like basic information you should know about your friends. Along with simple things like their favorite color, or their favorite food—stuff like that. I know all of my friends’ birthdays, and they remember mine. They also know that other stuff about me, and vice versa.”

She doesn’t know any of those facts about… him.

“Then, Claude isn’t my friend,” she replies. “He’s just my student. As house leader, he’s my ‘partner’ in helping to cultivate the minds and skills of his classmates.” She nods to herself. “I get it now. Thank you, Sylvain.”

Confusion veils over her when she notices Sylvain is once again giving her a pitying look. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing! Nothing,” he replies, waving a hand at her. “But you really don’t know his birthday?”

Byleth shakes her head. “I tried to guess once, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I know it already passed; it was sometime during the Blue Sea Moon. He’s always eager to celebrate the birthdays of his peers, but as far as I know, nobody knows when his is. I don’t know why he doesn’t care to do it.”

“Maybe as house leader, he doesn’t want to feel ‘special’ compared to everyone else?” Sylvain guesses.

Shrugging, Byleth says, “I don’t know. But I would like to celebrate his birthday. It just doesn’t seem right that everyone else has a day dedicated to them, but not him.”

“You really still wanna celebrate it, even after he made you mad?”

She’s quiet for a moment, staring at the flickering flames. “Yes, I do. Just because I’m upset with him, doesn’t mean other people are. And birthdays only come once a year. I’d like to do something for him. It’s a celebration of someone existing—living another year. I’m sure there are people who’re glad he’s alive. Maybe some of our class, or other friends he might have.”

“Then that’s what we should do.”

Looking to Sylvain, she’s met with a smile. “But he’ll refuse to do anything and try to slip away.”

“Not if it’s a surprise! He’s coming back on Thursday, right? That gives us enough time to prepare!” Rubbing at his chin, he looks up to the ceiling. “Although I don’t know what Claude likes, so the gifts are up in the air. We could get him something as a class. Oh!”

He snaps his fingers as realization sparks. “One time I played chess with him. The chess set he had was really old and worn. Kind of small, which I guess is fine to use on the go. But maybe we can get him a bigger one, and nice. Like with glass pieces instead of wood. He can at least leave it in his room for decoration if he doesn’t want to take it outside.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Sylvain.”

Grinning at her, he gives a nod. “Then we should make a list of things we’ll need. How about over dinner? You haven’t eaten yet, have you, Professor?”

“Was this another attempt at trying to get time alone with me?”

Laughing, he says, “You caught me. Kind of. But I really do want to plan this out now that you’ve brought it up. Maybe it’ll also make it easier to smooth in some kind of resolution between you two.”

That’s not a bad idea either. She still hasn’t figured out how to discuss her grievances with Claude when he gets back. She’s not planning to yell at him or anything, but the party will ease the tension a bit, and then she can talk to him afterward when they’re alone.

“Okay,” she agrees, standing up. “Let’s get planning then. We’re on a time constraint.”

  
  
  
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Tuesday, the next day in class, Sylvain brings up the surprise birthday party for Claude. When Byleth explains the situation, it’s Hilda who’s miffed that Claude didn’t bother to tell anyone about his special day, or even hint at it. Lysithea immediately suggests they get started on the cake, and Sylvain tells her it’s already covered.

“I asked Mercedes if she’d help with it since she’s the best baker I know, and she was more than eager to volunteer. Annette wanted to help out too. Suggested to do the cooking for the birthday food. I told her I’d get back to her on that, but uh, the times she’s gotten cooking duty in the dining hall, well…”

Immediately Ashe interjects, “I’ll help with the food! There’s no need to ask her, Sylvain.”

Apparently Byleth misses something, because then it’s Bernadetta, of all people, saying, “I-I’ll help him! Um, w-we don’t need to bring Annette into this.”

“What’s wrong with Annette?” asks Felix, a bit too harshly that Bernadetta squeaks and hides behind Petra.

As if sensing the poor girl is going to burst into tears, Sylvain asks, “Can you cook, Bernadetta? I didn’t know!”

“Um,” she nods, “y-yes. I like cooking and baking… a-and I’m good at it too. O-Or I think I am but I’ve heard Ashe is really good too s-so I don’t need to be there and—!”

“No, I’d love if you could help me!” Ashe says. “It’ll go a lot faster that way. We can go shopping for ingredients together after class tomorrow. How does that sound?”

“O-Okay,” she says.

“I’ll help out with the cooking too,” Leonie says. When the others stare at her, she adds, “What? I know how to cook. Nothing fancy, but it’s tasty enough. Anyone eat those berry and custard tarts for dessert last week? It was my turn for cooking duty then. Never made ’em before, so I just followed the recipe.”

“You _did_?” asks Lysithea, eyes wide. “Those refreshing, delicious—uh, w-well I mean, they were, weren’t they?” she says, looking to the class. But she doesn’t give anyone a chance to respond. “Then yes, Leonie, you can help.”

“I’ll get right on it, then!”

Raphael gives a pleased shout. “Aww man, I’m so excited! I suck at cooking, but I’ll help you guys with the taste testing if you want!”

“As exciting as this is,” Linhardt says, lifting his head from where it was planted on the desk, “do we even know what Claude likes to eat? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves without knowing that kind of crucial information. Professor?”

“Why’re you asking me?”

“Because you two get along quite well, and he spends the most time with you.”

Others agree, nodding. Petra makes a comment about her thinking it’d be Hilda, to which the latter admits she might talk a lot with Claude, but she’s not close to him like people assume. She doesn’t know what he likes to eat, both for a main course, or a dessert.

This is going to be a problem. Byleth racks her brain for any hidden clues she might’ve missed when dining with Claude. He almost never gets dessert after lunch or dinner; that means he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth. But more often than not, he picks the savory foods with herbs or spices. If they have vegetables, that’s also a bonus for him. Not too big on cheese dishes, but is particular about the ones he actually likes. He often snacks on fruit too. The few desserts he does eat now and again usually have some kind of fruit component in them.

“Alright, Professor,” starts Sylvain, “I see those wheels turning in your head. What’re you thinking?”

“From the times I’ve eaten with Claude, I think it’s a safe bet we have savory food for him. He tends to get those types of dishes a lot. Out of the three meats—red, poultry, and fish—he eats more bird. He’s not a sweets or confectionary person; rarely gets dessert. But I have noticed he munches on fruit when he wants a snack. So, the cake shouldn’t be overstuffed with icing and other related ingredients. Maybe the layers can have fruit in-between them. And some kind of fruit glaze on top, or… lots of cut fruit on top of a thin layer of frosting. I don’t know what flavor he likes so—”

“Chocolate,” Lysithea immediately says. “B-Because, well everyone likes chocolate. And if he doesn’t, he can just scrape off the frosting. Or we could just make chocolate mousse for the filling, so it’ll be light and not overpowering. And the cake breading should be vanilla. It’s a classic. It won’t clash too much with the other flavors.”

“Wow Lysithea,” says Raphael, “you know your stuff! Do you eat a lot of cake?”

“N-No I don’t!” she shouts. “I don’t eat a lot of cake! I eat it only _once_ in a while! I just know things because I read a lot!”

She’s never sounded more like a child until now, but Byleth decides to keep that to herself. Lysithea is already pretty red in the face. There’s nothing wrong with liking cake; it’s to be enjoyed by all ages, so she doesn’t know why she tries so hard (and fails) to hide the fact she loves it.

“A fruit birthday cake it is,” Byleth says.

Hilda claps, then takes out a piece of parchment from her satchel. “I volunteer for the decorations. I can cut out some cute banners with paper and—oh Ignatz, you should help! You have an eye for color!”

“You want me to help?” he asks.

“Sure! We’re a small class, so I think we should all contribute to this party. I’ll assign everyone roles!” As she writes down the first job, she says, “I’ll be in charge of the decorations. We need gold colors and warm tones, obviously. And also because I don’t know what colors Claude actually likes, so these should be fine.”

“Um…,” starts Marianne, and immediately Hilda gestures for her to speak up, “wh-what if we have… some kind of flowers to brighten up the space? Yellow flowers? Or white…”

“Sunflowers!” Ashe suggests. “I know tomorrow the floral vendor will be at the marketplace. We can look for some—or well, I guess I’ll be busy buying ingredients with Bernadetta.”

“I shall handle the flowers,” Lorenz volunteers. “I have an eye for beauty after all, and if we _must_ go through with this celebration for Claude, then, it is only right I do my fair share of the work.”

After much collaboration and compromise, Hilda finally writes down everyone’s assignments for the party. She and Ignatz will make the decorations. Ashe, Bernadetta, and Leonie will do the cooking. Lorenz and Marianne will get some sunflowers or other kinds of flowers that’ll make the plain brown classroom look a little more lively. To the shock of no one, Lysithea knows how to bake cakes, so she’ll collaborate with the out-of-house Mercedes to help her with the recipe. Petra, Felix, and Raphael are in charge of putting everything up and moving things around. All Linhardt has to do is get dinner ware: plates, forks, knives, and napkins.

“And as for you and Sylvain, Professor,” Hilda says, dotting all her i’s with little hearts and crossing her t’s with a flourish, “you’ll go gift shopping. Find the best chess set you can. We’ll all pitch in a little something. Ignatz, how does our budget look?”

“Well, after the amount the professor gave us,” he scribbles on his own piece of paper, “and taking into consideration we still need to save some for any mission we’ll have this month,” oh, right, she still hasn’t discussed that with them, “and the necessity to always upkeep our weapons, we can only use one-fifth of our class funds, max. See?”

He shows her the breakdown of all the math and listed items. Hilda groans loudly, clicking her tongue. “That’s it? _Ugh_, well, I guess that’s still a better number than I expected.”

“Though this is a birthday party for our house leader,” Byleth starts, “Ignatz is right that we do need to keep it inexpensive. But you’re very creative, Hilda, and I’m sure that how you design the interior space will be wonderful regardless.” Plus, this is the most effort she’s seen Hilda put into anything. Byleth would be a fool to discourage her in any way right now.

Hilda giggles, shooing her hand at her. “Oh, you’re right, Professor: it _will _be.”

Chatter starts up again about the cheapest vendors they know. Ashe shares some of his haggling tips, which Petra listens to intently, not really understanding the concept of bargaining. She asks Ashe for more when he’s finished, but when he says he doesn’t have any left, she makes a comment about understanding it’s ‘forbidden knowledge’ so she won’t bother him with questions. Ashe has to quickly emphasize that he really did run out of things to say because that’s all he knows.

As they all get worked up in excitement, Byleth pulls Sylvain aside.

“Thank you for this suggestion,” she tells him. “Everyone seems really into it, so I’m glad it’s making them happy.”

“Hey no worries, Professor! We can’t let our house leader think his birthday isn’t important.”

“Yeah. I just hope he likes it.” Crossing her arms and looking down at the floor, she adds, “I don’t know why he didn’t care to celebrate it, or even mention it. So, I hope it uplifts his mood rather than worsens it.”

Sylvain ducks his head a little to meet her eyes. “Hey, everything will go fine. He seems like the kind of guy who likes thoughtful gestures like this. Even if we don’t get the best stuff because of our budget, I have a good feeling he’ll like it anyway. But if for some weird reason he does get upset, then I’ll take the heat.”

Before she can disagree, Sylvain shakes his head. “I’m the one who suggested it, so most of the blame will fall on me. We don’t need him more, uh, I guess ‘irritated’ with our dear professor. But let’s hope he’s gotten over it. He’d have to after he sees what we’ve planned for him. Okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles at her, and just as he turns back around, Byleth puts a hand on his forearm. He looks back at her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “I wanted to… get a second opinion.”

“On the party?”

“No. About…” She sighs. “Do you believe that I never knew I had a Crest until now?”

He takes a moment to search her face. She’s not sure what he’s looking for. Maybe something like Claude did—to see if she has any visual cues of lying. She hopes that’s not the case. She needs… She wants somebody to believe her.

“We’re always learning new things about ourselves the more years pass us by,” he replies. “And the more we experience different things in life. I don’t know a lot about how you grew up, Professor, but what I can guess is that there’s a lot of the world outside your father’s mercenary group that you just didn’t care to know about. Or maybe he didn’t think it was important for you to know of them. Don’t know _why_, but that’s not really my business, is it?”

Turning to her fully now, he continues, “I mean, it _is_ kinda weird there was a lot of stuff you didn’t know about the grander expanse of Fódlan. But Crests really are more of a nobility thing than a common folk thing. Or, problem, is the better word.” He pauses again, staring off at nothing on the ground. His brow furrows the slightest bit, and for a second Byleth thinks he changed his mind and is actually upset with her too.

“So,” his expression relaxes again, “yeah, I believe you didn’t know. Hope you’ll figure out why you have one soon, though.”

“Ah, thank you, Sylvain.”

He grins wide at her as usual. “Of course, Professor! And hey,” he sticks his hands in his pockets, “I wouldn’t worry about the whole friendship thing we spoke of before. You said by definition you don’t consider Claude your friend. But after this party planning? I think you know more about him than all of us combined.”

Leonie calls him over for something, and Sylvain rejoins the group again before Byleth can ask him how sure he is of that. Just because she may know more things about Claude doesn’t mean they’re friends. She’s the professor, and it’s natural for instructors to know at least a little about their students.

Besides, friendship is a mutual agreement, and if Claude doesn’t count her as one, then she doesn’t want to force it. She’ll return the sentiment out of respect, and not consider him a friend either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we're in April now! Sorry for that one week hiatus again, but I really needed to finish the Chapter 30 draft. It ended up being split in half to create Chapter 31, and then I kept adding onto that. So I'm back on track again with my 5 drafts ahead of whatever is currently uploaded to AO3.
> 
> Claude returns next chapter, so let's see how he feels about the surprise birthday celebration. Speaking of him, though, we finally got his _true name_! If you didn't know, about a week ago, the FE3H developers did a recent interview (which you can read a bit of the translation [here](https://serenesforest.net/2020/03/24/three-houses-nintendo-dream-interview-reveals-first-route-claudes-real-name/)) about the game and said that "Claude" really is just his Fodlan alias. His birth name is "Khalid". Apparently this is a common Arabic name that means "eternal", which is fitting because my love for Claude is eternal and will never die even when time and space collapses. I kept gushing about it on Twitter, and some of you may have seen how ecstatic I was at the news. Even now I smile thinking about it. I just love him so much!!! 😭💖 So I went back to his childhood chapter and changed "Kian" into "Khalid". I liked "Kian" but ultimately decided to edit it to his real name.
> 
> Things are still sorta Not Great out in the world right now, but I hope all of you are doing well and staying safe regardless.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	27. XXVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth learns from Ingrid that Felix's father, Rodrigue, is at the monastery in Margrave Gautier's stead. The Gautier family Relic, the Lance of Ruin, has been stolen by Miklan, Sylvain's older brother. Almost immediately after, Byleth is called to a meeting with Rhea and is introduced to Rodrigue. She's also given this month's mission: to retrieve the Relic since the Sword of the Creator stands a chance against it. This makes Byleth a little stressed, as she has yet to even use it or understand its power. She later seeks Sylvain to give him a heads up, but doesn't ask him for more questions about Miklan since it's not her business. Byleth learns the definition of a friend, and realizes that Claude doesn't fit that description as she doesn't even know when his birthday is, only that it already passed. When she tells Sylvain she wants to do something for him, he encourages her to throw a surprise birthday party. The next day, the whole class comes together to organize it. Byleth just hopes Claude will like it.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXVII ⧽  
  
Disappointing Surprise

**_7th of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1180 ━_ **

On Wednesday, Byleth dismissed the class a little early so they could go shopping for Claude’s surprise birthday celebration. All of them decided to go together to better collaborate instead of doing a lot of back and forth. Felix almost didn’t come, but when he heard Rodrigue was still on the premises, he decided to tag along to help carry things.

They had split up into groups based on everyone’s tasks. Raphael, Felix, and Petra were each divided into one of the little packs to help with carrying supplies. Byleth doubts many things will be heavy except perhaps the vases of flowers, but everyone wanted to do something, so that’s how things ended up.

Now she and Sylvain are paired on their own since all they have to do is shop around for a chess set. They first look in gift or toy shops, but all of the sets are either wooden or way too expensive for their budget. Some even have jewels encrusted into them, and she’s absolutely sure Claude wouldn’t go for something gaudy like that. (Lorenz might, though.)

“I’m starting to think we won’t find one,” Byleth says.

“We still have a few hours before dinner, Professor. And we haven’t looked in all the shops yet.”

“I know, but,” she stares up at the sky. It’s been a light gray all day, and clouds in a darker hue are starting to roll in, “I think it’s going to rain again. Those clouds weren’t there earlier.”

“Kind of a welcome change from all the heat we’ve been getting lately,” he reasons. “Besides, we did tell everyone that if they want to head back to the monastery on their own so they don’t miss dinner, they can.”

Byleth hums in acknowledgement, then stops to point at a shop on their left. “What about there? We haven’t looked in that place yet.” She approaches the window where different glass and porcelain decorations are on display. Most of them are minimal in design, but a few are tediously colored and sculpted. There’s even an elaborately painted tea set in here she thinks Ferdinand might like.

“Oh hey, this place looks nice!” Sylvain comments.

She notices he’s leaning over behind her to get a better look. Seeing his faint reflection in the window, he’s _a lot_ taller than she perceived. Well, she knows he is, since she has to look up at him whenever she speaks with him, but she never really considered how it’d look side-by-side. Has she always been this short compared to him? (Then again, a lot of people are taller than her, even some women.)

“Let’s see if they have a chess set.” He opens the door for her and they walk into the store. More rows of glass and porcelain objects are carefully situated on the shelves lining the walls and the display tables in the center. A few other people are looking around too.

They split up to survey both sides of the shop. Byleth glances through the inventory but mostly finds table ornaments or little figurines. Halfway through the shelve-lined wall, there’s a gap with a table displaying more shiny wares. And on it, at the top tier, is a chess set.

Looking closer, it’s not as fancy as some of the others she’s seen. Only the board is glass with the checkered spaces differentiated by a smooth or frosted texture to imitate the usual black and white boxes. The chess pieces are made of lacquer-finished porcelain. One side white, and the other, dark gray.

Reading the price tag, it’s slightly out of budget from what everyone pitched in. But she supposes she can spare a bit more of her personal money for it. “Sylvain, come here.”

“Y’know I imagined you saying those words in a very different context,” he teases, sauntering over. But if he wanted to try and hit on her again, he’s thankfully distracted when he looks at the chess set. “Wow, yeah this’ll work! It’s kinda plain, but that makes it nicer to look at. No distracting weird gold marble or highly detailed carvings of all the pieces.”

“It’s a little more than what we all contributed, but I can pay for the rest.”

“Professor, you sure? I have extra money. You don’t need to spend yours.”

“No, it’s okay. I can’t ask you to—,” but she’s ignored as Sylvain carefully takes the chess set from the table. He’s perfectly balanced as he excuses his way to the register, and the shopkeeper worriedly tells him he could’ve just brought it over in pieces.

Before she can protest about spending his own money, Sylvain has already paid the man who is now carefully wrapping everything up in paper.

“And it’s for a friend’s birthday,” he tells him, “so if you could put it in a nice box with a bow or something, that’d be great.”

“Of course, sir!”

The chess set is safely packaged in a black box, nestled snuggly between different cushions of paper. The man decorates it with gray wrapping paper, and tops it off with a golden bow after he’s tied it vertically, horizontally, and diagonally.

“For safety,” he says, gently patting it. “Hope your friend likes their gift! Thank you for your patronage!”

“No, thank you! This looks great!” Sylvain says with a smile as he takes the box. He stores it in the satchel he brought with him, making a comment about not trusting himself to not drop it in his hands.

As they exit the store, Byleth says, “Sylvain, you didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s fine, Professor,” he assures. “You can just give me the money we were gonna use as compensation. Then it’d still be a little loss to me.”

“But I was ready to pay for the difference.”

“You don’t get paid all that much though, do you?”

She wonders how he knows. It’s true that her pay is small compared to the other professors who have been working at the academy for several years. Jeralt also gets paid more than her, but he’s in charge of the Knights of Seiros, so that’s a no-brainer. Hell, the students of the nobility get monthly allowances twice or thrice her salary.

“No, but that’s why I budget,” she admits. “Besides, I rarely buy anything for myself. So it’s fine.”

He nods in understanding. “You should treat yourself now and again.”

“I buy snacks sometimes in the shops.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he replies lightly and with a smile. “I was talking about material things, like clothes, accessories, decorations for your room—things like that.”

“Oh. I guess I never really cared to get stuff like that.” A drop of rain falls on her nose, and she wipes it away. “Ah, it’s starting,” she notes, glancing up to the sky again as the rain gradually patters in thicker drops. The two of them run underneath one of the gazebos in the plaza where a few other people also flee to.

“Based on how the clouds look, it should let up by nightfall, I think,” she tells him. “We can’t stay out here that long. Maybe we should look for—hey, Sylvain where are you going?”

Handing her the satchel, he says, “I’m gonna run into a shop real quick, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes!”

Her protests die in her throat as he sprints out of the gazebo and into one of the jewelry shops they had passed earlier. She keeps an eye out for him, or for any of her other students, but no one is nearby. Maybe they all hid in restaurants or cafés to have dinner meanwhile.

Sylvain returns quickly, as he promised. He’s soaked and out of breath by the time he reaches the gazebo. He takes off his blazer, setting it over the bench. It’s too wet to keep wearing, and he says the last thing he wants is to get sick. Byleth tells him he should’ve waited inside the shop until the rain let up, but he just laughs it off, telling her he didn’t want to leave her alone all by herself.

“Besides, I wanted to give this to you. Trade you for the satchel,” he says, holding out a small drawstring pouch to her.

Curiously, she swaps the satchel for the pouch, and when she opens it, finds a silver necklace. The chain is thin, and the only thing on it is a small, pink heart charm. Not a flat one either, but one with dimension. It looks very well-crafted. And expensive.

“Sylvain, what is… this?”

“A gift for you!” he says with a wide grin. “I figured you might not be a jewelry person, but this necklace was calling to me. I had to get it.”

“This is a nice gesture, but it looks expensive and—”

“Professor, it’s fine. If you can’t treat yourself because of your budget, then let other people treat you, yeah? Or do you not want it because you think I have some ulterior motive? I can understand why you would.”

“No, I didn’t think that,” she says honestly. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind that he might be doing it to charm her. “I was just confused why you would get me something like this. I don’t have anything to give you in return, and it’s not my birthday either.”

He gives an amused hum, shaking his head. “Here, let me see it.”

Giving him the necklace, she stands still as he unclasps the little hook at the back. “May I?” he asks, holding it out in front of her from end to end. She nods, moving her hair out of the way as he walks behind her to settle the chain around her neck. She stills when she feels knuckles brush against the back of her neck. When he’s done clasping it, she lets her hair down again.

The necklace isn’t that long; the heart charm rests just below the junction of where her clavicles meet and sternum begins. It isn’t heavy either, and had she not known she was wearing a necklace, she would’ve never guessed it’s on her.

She brushes a finger against the heart charm. It’s the same shade of pink as the accents on her black clothing. Other people must think this is her favorite color. It’s a nice color, but she’s not sure if it’s her favorite. Or black for that matter.

But unlike a lot of jewelry she’s seen today, the necklace isn’t obnoxiously pretentious. It’s pretty plain, but maybe that’s why she’s quickly growing fond of it.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I’ll have to get you something in return.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. This is a gift from a friend. Besides, I had a bit of money to spare.”

A friend? Is that how he sees her? Can she even be friends with her students? A lot of them are around her age. Or… perceived age. And though she enjoyed her night out with Catherine, Shamir, and Manuela, she’s not sure if ‘friend’ is the right word to describe her relationship with them.

Byleth turns around to face Sylvain, and all he does is continue to smile at her. His hair is flat from the rain, little drops dripping down the ends of his incalescent locks. Other drops follow the angle of his jaw and the length of his neck, disappearing somewhere down underneath his white dress shirt. It’s soaked to the point where it’s stuck to his form and his skin shows through the translucent areas of the fabric.

He’s saying something, but she doesn’t hear it. Instead she wonders how he’s so tall, and why is his chest that wide, and how is it possible he’s not cold. She doesn’t notice more people crowd the gazebo. Not until Sylvain lightly wraps an arm around her lower back, pulling her closer so more people can fit within the increasingly small space. She very much feels his hand gently resting at her hip as she’s pressed against his front.

_His chest is very firm; must be keeping up with his training. I’m glad he’s being diligent with it._

Sylvain doesn’t say anything. He only stares out at the rain as other people do. Byleth listens to their complaints of their ruined day, or how glad they are for the rain and pray for a good crop yield. Something about wanting surplus for the winter months when the snow rolls back in toward the end of the year.

The rain stops after a while, but the sky is still gray. Slowly people meander out of the gazebo, and Byleth doesn’t want to follow them, only because she’d then lose the warmth from being so close to Sylvain. And the arm still looped around her lower back is… comforting. Comforting in a way that’s different than the few times Jeralt has embraced her, or ruffled her hair, or patted her shoulder.

A kind of comfort she thinks she can see herself enjoying more of in the future.

“Looks like it’s clear to leave now,” he says, gazing down at her with a smile. “You ready to go, Professor? I’m sure the others went back to the monastery, or are waiting for us at the meeting spot.”

“Yes,” she says, slowly putting space between them. “We should head back.”

He doesn’t make any kind of comment about having held her so close. And she’s thankful for it. If he had, she wouldn’t know what to tell him. She can’t say she was bothered—because she wasn’t. He was warm, even though his soaked shirt had been cold originally. She’s a little damp herself now, but she should dry up on the trip back to the monastery.

When they do meet up with the others, Hilda asks about the necklace, saying how cute it is. Byleth mentions Sylvain bought it for her, and Hilda’s smile falters only for a second. She stares at it, and then at Sylvain, but whatever is on her mind she decides not to voice it.

“Let’s hurry up and get back,” she says instead. “Claude will be here tomorrow so we should make sure everything goes right.”

“Okay.”

Byleth can feel Sylvain’s gaze on her as he walks in the back, speaking every so often with Felix. But she doesn’t acknowledge it, and focuses on leading her class back to their home in the monastery, hoping another downpour doesn’t catch them by surprise.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Okay, if he has to be honest, Sylvain didn’t just suggest the surprise birthday party for Claude out of pure good will. Like, yeah, they _should _celebrate the house leader’s birthday; he’s not sure why Claude would want to hide it. And he agreed with Byleth it should be kept to the class, since she doesn’t know how well he gets along with the other Golden Deer classes or professors. But that aside, he did have a more motivating factor.

This party—the planning bit—was also a good way to spend more time with Byleth. Alone.

Yesterday he made a mental fist-pump at successfully holding her close to him. She had a contemplative look in her eyes as she gazed up at him, and didn’t make a move to push herself away from him. (Or shove, pinch, or hit him.) Although, not like she could’ve anyway. That gazebo really was crowded. Sylvain hadn’t even realized he was tugging her close for a few seconds at first.

Like he imagined, she fit comfortably against him. She looked so small being that close, and a part of him wanted the contact to last longer. Even embrace her with both arms. But it was probably for the best that it didn’t happen. The pleasantly plump curves of her breasts pressing against his front was really starting to get to him after a while. He had tried to distract himself by watching the rain and eavesdropping on the conversations from the people around them. Wouldn’t do well to have his fantasies run wild out in public, especially with her so close.

(But now he has a new one to think about at night.)

While not alone with her today, he does like being near her here in the kitchen. He managed to smooth talk the head chef into letting them use it after dinner. Something that Byleth appreciated since Claude would be here by sunset, at the latest. The rain must’ve slowed him down, otherwise he might’ve already returned by noon.

Annette had tagged along with Mercedes, but the former isn’t allowed in here. Orders from the kitchen lady. (The last time she helped out with cooking duty, she set a pot on fire and nearly ruined one of the stoves.) She was really down not being able to help make food for the party, even if she’s not in their class. And so, she sulked off to the doorway, saying she was just going to study some more. Sylvain suggested she go find Felix, and that cheered her up a bit.

The only ones left in the kitchen aside from himself, Byleth, and Mercedes, are Leonie, Ashe, Bernadetta, and Lysithea. He’s glad that Bernadetta isn’t as mousy being in here with only a few people. She seems scared of everything and everyone. But with Byleth watching her with interest, Ashe and Leonie’s encouraging words, and Mercedes’ soft assurances, they have Bernadetta smiling more often than not. Lysithea is too focused mixing ingredients for the cake batter to notice.

“Hey, Mercedes,” starts Sylvain, “thanks for doing this. Things will go a lot faster now with you here.”

“Of course! I’m happy to help,” she says as she cuts up some fruit. Strawberries, bananas, peaches, and kiwis are to be sliced, but the bowl of blueberries is left off to the side along with the grapes. “I hope when we’re done, Claude will like it. I’ve never made a cake that isn’t too sweet before. It’ll still need sugar, but I think I can make it work.”

“I know you can. Pastries taste better when the person making them is sweet themselves, and you’re as sweet as a honeycomb,” he compliments with a wink.

Mercedes giggles. “Oh Sylvain, the things you say. You don’t need to butter me up to help you with things like this. I love baking, and trying to make a cake like this is a fun challenge! Lysithea, how’s the batter coming along?”

“Still trying to even out the lumps,” she replies, sticking out her tongue as she works the whisk. “But my arm is getting kinda tired.”

“Here, I’ll help,” Sylvain offers. She looks like she’s about to make another comment of her not being a weak child, so he says, “You can start making the Albinean berry glaze.”

Though she grumbles under her breath, she doesn’t fight him on it. Sylvain whisks the vanilla batter until he can’t see any more lumps. Okay, well, there might be one or two floating in there somewhere. But Claude won’t mind. It’s going to be baked anyway and they should come out.

“Y’know cooking is kinda fun—or, er, baking I guess,” he comments. “Is there really a difference?”

Mercedes hums. “Actually, yes. Some people are good at cooking, but not baking. And vice-versa. I’m that way. I can’t really cook, but I can make a delicious pie, cake, or cream puff! Among other things.”

“Aww, I’m sure you can cook something, Mercedes.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “I really can’t. I’ve tried it once, and it… didn’t end up tasting too good.” Looking up at him, she says, “But I think you’d be good at it, Sylvain.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Of course! You seem to be good at a lot of things when you try. Annette told me you helped her with a complicated magical formula last week, despite you hardly having ever used magic before. And though you’re not always eager to train, I hear that your skills are improving pretty quickly.”

“Thanks, Mercedes. But really, I gotta give this one to Professor Byleth. She’s actually got a knack for teaching. Heard she was pretty clumsy and lost at it in the beginning of the year, but, I think she’s really grown into the role.”

He looks over to where Byleth is. She dons an apron as Ashe guides her through one of the recipes. Maybe she wanted to help with the cooking after all. Bernadetta and Leonie have to tell her to carefully measure the spices so they’re not overpowering, and to keep track of the time for the cooking of the poultry.

Her hair is also tied up into a ponytail. She looks good like that. Real good. He can see the back of her slender neck, and the charm necklace he gave her is still there. Hopefully she likes it and wears it all the time. It’ll be a reminder that she’s growing more comfortable around him. And maybe, soon, she’ll actually agree to go out on a date with him.

“You seem to really enjoy her class,” Mercedes says, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Oh yeah, I do. Like I said, she’s a good instructor. Always gives everyone equal attention, and is willing to help whenever we need it.”

“Her being young and beautiful is also a plus, isn’t it?”

Sylvain laughs. “I’m that easy to read, huh?”

“When I asked Felix how he was liking her class, he said he was making good progress with his training. He also told me that you always sit in the front row. And with Claude gone, you’ve taken his seat temporarily to sit even closer. Felix stated the obvious reasons in words that I’m not going to repeat.”

“Damn, Felix doesn’t pull his punches, does he?”

Mercedes smiles. “I’ll agree that Professor Byleth is a lovely woman. And like Felix, I also have a good idea on why you were so quick to transfer houses.” She brushes off all the cut up fruit into a different bowl, but sets the banana slices aside as they’ll be in the chocolate mousse filling between the two layers of cake.

“But,” starts Mercedes after a short pause, “she’s… different, than other women you’ve been with. Or that I’ve met.”

“Different how?”

She looks over to Byleth who is staring intently as she carefully sets the pan of the prepared pheasants into the oven. She nearly burns herself and Leonie tells her to be careful and pay attention. Bernadetta and Ashe fuss over her, but Byleth assures them she’s fine.

“There’s something… innocent, about her.” Mercedes takes another bowl filled with walnuts and begins to mash them with a pestle. “I know she was a mercenary, and thus killed for a living. So, she’s not innocent when it comes to combat and stuff. I’m not in the class, but from the things I’ve heard about her, she’s innocent in a way that people like Bernie and Ashe aren’t. I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but that’s the feeling I get.”

Byleth has never had friends before. That’s the closest guess he can make to what Mercedes means. He can make another guess that she’s never been around people who actually want to hang out with her. Or been around people her own age. While he doesn’t know much about her mercenary life, he can at least assume she was the only kid in her father’s company.

And now that Mercedes has mentioned it, Sylvain can feel that too.

There’s also the fact of her being completely unaware of her Crest. For her entire life. And apparently it’s the rarest of them all too. Never had anyone judge her for it; only for her skills with the blade. Never had anyone suck up to her or weasel their way into her good graces. Never had a relative nearly beat her to death for something she didn’t get to choose.

Never appreciative of how damn lucky she was that she didn’t have to go through any of that shit.

“Sylvain? Are you alright?” asks Mercedes, looking concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies. “And you might be right. I’m not close to her, so, I dunno what exactly is innocent about her. But I get that feeling too.”

Mercedes doesn’t look convinced, as she’s still studying his face, but she doesn’t comment on it further. She goes back to crushing up the walnuts until they’re fine; nearly a powder. “Lysithea, how is the glaze coming along?”

“Almost done,” she replies, still mixing the boiling pot of berries. “Made sure not to add too much sugar. I’ll strain out the juice once they’re boiled a bit more.”

Sylvain pours the vanilla batter into the different cake tins and gives them a little shake so it spreads evenly. “Hey, Mercedes, ever think about joining our class? I feel like you’d enjoy it here.”

“I have, but, I’m still not sure. I like being with Annie in the same class. And I don’t want to leave her alone. Maybe if she joins along with me, I will.”

She goes quiet again as she starts to clean up her area. “However, I’ve actually been thinking of asking Professor Byleth if I could accompany your class on this month’s mission. I…,” she glances to where Lysithea and the others are still occupied with their tasks. In a quieter tone, she continues, “overheard Seteth and Rodrigue yesterday when I was on my way to do my daily prayers in the cathedral. Your class is going to arrest Miklan when his hideout is located, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies plainly.

Mercedes looks at him. “I don’t know of all the details of what happened between you two, but I want to be there for support. If you don’t want me there, or, if you think it’s none of my business, then I won’t tag along.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I think you joining in during our training sessions will be good. That’s probably what the professor will have you do. It’s what she did with Ashe.”

“Then, I’ll ask her later today, or tomorrow.”

Sylvain puts on another one of his charming smiles as he leans against the counter. “It’s actually endearing how much you care about me, Mercedes. I’ll have to pay you back sometime. How about you and I have a picnic out in the garden? Or in the field with the wildflowers?” He moves closer, and she only gives her usual serene smile. She almost looks amused, even. “Maybe dinner in town, under candlelight?”

Giggling, she replies, “Oh Sylvain, you really do say the darnedest things. No thank you. I consider you my friend, but never one of your many conquests.”

He clutches his heart, and makes a pained sound. “You’re as sweet as honey, but you also sting like a bee, Mercedes!”

She only gives him another smile as she pats his arm. Then she walks over to Bernadetta and compliments her on how delicious the food smells. The girl blushes and stutters, but calms down the more Mercedes speaks with her.

“I’m glad that she helped out,” Byleth says, suddenly next to him.

He jumps and nearly yelps, but he managed to save himself the embarrassment. “Professor, I can see why you were so skilled as a mercenary! You made my heart leap, but then again, you always get my blood pumping.”

Byleth ignores his last comment with, “After watching this small group work in here, and trying my best at actually cooking in a kitchen instead of throwing things in a campfire out in the forest,” damn, what the hell did she eat as a mercenary? “I think the whole class should learn how to cook. Or at least, we should have a series of seminars on how to do it.”

“We might be the only ones attending. Lots of nobles have people cook for them.”

“True, but my class isn’t like that. Even if it’s just us, I think it’d be a useful skill to learn. You never know when you’ll need it.”

Looking up at him, she adds, “Thank you again for suggesting this surprise party for Claude. He should be here soon, though hopefully after we have the food set up in the classroom.”

“No problem, Professor. I’m glad I was able to help.”

She nods, brushing a hand along his arm as a secondary acknowledgement before walking back over to the others. It makes his body hot, and he hones in on the back of her neck again. Oh, what it’d be like to trail his lips on the smooth skin there. His hands grasping her curvy hips, the thick meat of her thighs squished between his palms, her long toned legs wrapped around his waist, that nice tight—fuck, not things he should be thinking about right now.

_Mercedes was right about Byleth being innocent. She’s not aware of the effect she has on people, and the things she does to me, specifically…._

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Claude can’t say he enjoyed the trip too much. It was his first roundtable conference, so he supposed it was good practice on dealing with Alliance nobles. The issue this time was about Fódlan’s Throat, the mountain range that divides this country and Almyra. There’s an impregnable fortress called Fódlan's Locket right smack in the middle of it. The Locket also has an accursed wall that stretches from sea to sea along this mountain range.

Some of the Alliance lords brought up concerns of others not giving their equal share of contribution to its defenses. And by some, he really just means Count Gloucester, Lorenz’s father. The man looks nothing like his son except for the atrocious hairstyle and color. (Actually, his hair is somehow even _worse_ than Lorenz’s, being styled into the ugliest bob cut Claude’s ever seen.) He’s short and stout but that doesn’t stop him from raising his voice so he can be the only one heard through the arguments.

His wife, Countess Helena Gloucester, is where Lorenz gets his nose and height from. She’s much taller than her husband and unlike him, actually tried to collaborate with Claude or suggest alternatives to his proposals on everything. That usually earned her a look from the Count, but he never said anything unbecoming when it happened. Claude can only guess their home life is the dead of winter itself.

Count Gloucester had been insufferable the whole conference, which, unfortunately, lasted three days. Always tried to fight Claude on everything, cut him off when he spoke, or made passive-aggressive and backhanded comments toward him. Several times Claude had to steel his nerves and not return the same tone. (The only thing they could quickly agree on is asking Baron Acheron to shut the hell up—in formal, polite terms—pretty much any time he opened his mouth.)

Being the youngest in the room at only 18, Claude knows at least half of the lords and ladies in the conference didn’t take him seriously. He surmises they were only civil with him out of respect for Duke Riegan. But that respect didn’t extend to when they didn’t know he was in the room. Countless times he heard them whisper about how astounded they were that he’s Tiana’s son, as the only thing he inherited from her were the eyes and Crest.

He always left before they could throw in guesses as to who his father is, and where he comes from.

On top of that, he’d been racking his brain the whole time on how to make up for what he said to Byleth before. Nothing he thought of seemed good enough. And when he had fallen asleep after making a list (that was later crumpled up and thrown away), he decided short and honest was the best approach. Like how she handles everything.

Now, early morning of his departure day, he’s spending some time out in the marketplace and shops looking for an appropriate apology gift. (He still thinks she wouldn’t care to get one, but Hilda might throttle him if he doesn’t buy _something_.) Though it’s a little difficult since all the things he finds that he _thinks_ she’ll like will spoil since he’s pretty sure all she enjoys is food.

But on that note, he passes by a vegetable booth in the central marketplace plaza. A bunch of ripe and fresh produce are front and center, drawing in customers with its colorful display. One crate near the vendor has a basket on it with several bags of seeds.

Looking at them, Claude picks one up. “How much for these?”

“Well, that’s my last batch of Leicester opal tomatoes, and they’ve been in pretty high demand lately.” Named as such because of their small size like cherry tomatoes, and the fact that when ripe, have a gradient of red, orange, and yellow. Colorful like its gemstone namesake. And apparently very delicious from what Claude keeps hearing about them.

“I’ll take your last pouch then,” he says, already paying and not waiting for the woman to respond. “I’ve heard these are the tastiest tomato breed in all of Leicester.”

“You’ve heard right, young man! They taste good raw or cooked! And make any dish more vibrant with its sunny colors! I hope you like them!”

He hopes Byleth likes them too. She’s somewhat of a food aficionado. And tomatoes are apparently a vegetable she really likes. Once these are ripe, he’ll have to cook something for her with them.

Claude returns to the Riegan estate before Judith can scold him about disappearing without letting her know. Sure enough, an hour into last-minute packing, she knocks on the door frame of his bedroom.

“Ready to go? I sent a messenger just now that we’d be back at the monastery by Thursday. It’s the rainy season, so we’ll wanna get a head-start.”

“Can’t wait to leave,” he admits casually.

“Missing your classmates and your professor already?”

‘Miss’ is a strong word for what he’s feeling. But as he has no other idea on what to call it, he just nods. “You could say that.”

“Hopefully Byleth won’t be upset with you anymore. But if I were her, I would be.”

“Well thankfully she isn’t you,” he says, ignoring the woman’s glare. “Teach is pretty fair and forgiving. And though she doesn’t care about gifts, I’m hoping she enjoys these.”

He dangles the little bag of seeds. “Tomatoes. She likes them a lot—especially in soup, and these are supposed to be the tastiest kind in all of Leicester. We’ll see how well that claim holds up once they’ve grown. Gonna plant them in a nice pot once I get back. Then I’ll give it to her.”

“Bribing your way to forgiveness with food, huh?”

Claude gives an amused huff, shaking his head. “You don’t know Teach. She eats a lot, and pretty much just about everything too. I think she’d appreciate food way more than, say, jewelry or perfumes. Not that kind of gal.”

Judith gives him a smile. One he doesn’t like because it’s the knowing, almost teasing kind, and for once he actually doesn’t care to know what she’s thinking. He can take a guess, and she’d be wrong.

“Then let’s get going while we still have the sun out. We need to get you back to your gal.”

“My _professor_,” he corrects.

“Yes, your dear ‘Teach’. Cute little nickname you’ve given her.”

He ignores Judith and slugs his travel bag and quiver of arrows over his shoulders. “After you, _Lady _Judith. Or is that just a nickname too?”

Claude darts out of the room laughing as she reaches for the nearest cushion to throw at him.

The trip back to the monastery lasts a little longer than the trip to Derdriu. The rain means the single caravan they have has to move slower, and they have to make more stops for shelter when the downpour is too much. They’re trying to avoid mudslides and other potential natural accidents.

By the time Garreg Mach is visible on the horizon, Claude finds his strength renewed and rides his horse a little faster along the dirt path. The sun has set lower now in the sky, though it’s cleared from any clouds. Hopefully they won’t deal with more rain for at least a few days so Judith and company can return to Daphnel territory safely.

He finds Byleth speaking with Anthony when he arrives. Judith tells him she’ll go report to Seteth about their return, patting him on the back as she nods toward Byleth. “You have some business to take care of. See you whenever I see you, boy.”

“Yeah, same to you.”

Anthony is the first to notice him, greeting Claude in that usual cheerful way of his. “Lord Claude! Welcome back! How was your trip?”

“Good for the most part. And Tony, I really did mean it when I said you can just call me ‘Claude’. Not really big on formalities.”

“Ah, well I’ll try to remember!” he says sheepishly. “The professor also suggested I just call her ‘Byleth’, but…”

“It’s okay, Anthony,” she says. Claude ignores how good it sounds to hear her voice again. “If you prefer to call me ‘Professor’, then I won’t force you not to.”

“Hey, Teach.”

Byleth meets his eyes, and gives a nod. “Hello, Claude. I’m glad you’ve returned safely. I have all of your homework ready along with a copy of my lecture notes so you can catch up.”

“Dang, already straight down to business huh?” he jokes. But she doesn’t give an amused hum, or even blinks. That’s a little worrisome. “I’ll stop by your ‘office’ then once I’ve got my things put away. Oh.”

Funny. She’s actually wearing… jewelry. A heart necklace. It’s simple, sure, but still. Since when does she wear jewelry? Did Hilda make it for her?

Just as he’s about to ask her where it’s from, she replies, “Actually, I’ll be in the classroom. I was cleaning up a little since there are more students now. Wanted to air out the space too. I’m going to get a quick bite before that, though. Stop by the front of the dining hall once you’ve settled in. But don’t keep me too long.”

She leaves then, not looking back. It reminds him too much of when she refused to listen to his call for her to stop just before he had left to Derdriu. He’s still in hot water, obviously. And he’s hoping that the tomato plant and his verbal apology will at least make a smooth transition into her forgiving him.

He’s quick to just throw his bag of belongings on his bed when he returns to the dorms. The greenhouse is still open, so he scrounges around for a nice pot. The gardener offers him a white clay pot. Simple and standard. It should contrast nicely once the brilliant warm hues of the tomatoes bloom. He pays for the best soil she has lying around too—apparently called ‘pegasus blessings’ which is just a fancy term for magic-infused horse shit.

Well, as long as it doesn’t smell, then it’s fine. (He takes a quick sniff to make sure, and thankfully no offensive odor assaults his nostrils).

Byleth is waiting for him near the dining hall, speaking with Annette. When they see him, Annette gasps and smiles wide. She waves at him before quickly darting off toward the classrooms. Maybe Byleth gave her some magic tips or whatever while she was waiting.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to lag,” he says. Presenting the pot to her with a flourish, he says, “Ta-da! A gift for you!”

She stares at it as she takes it in her hands. “…Soil? I’m not really sure what to do with this.”

“Not _just_ soil. I planted tomato seeds. Leicester opal tomatoes, actually. The best species of tomatoes in the Alliance. Supposed to be extra tasty once they’ve grown. They turn a really nice vibrant red, orange, and yellow when ripe.”

“Oh.” Her face lights up just the slightest bit, and he counts that as his first baby step to forgiveness. “Thank you, Claude. I can’t wait until they’re ready. Do I just water them every day?”

“Nah. Once in the mornings every two days. Keep them in the sunlight, like your windowsill.”

“I’ll take good care of them then. But why the gift?”

“Uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, “it’s sort of an apology gift. I acted like a jerk to you before I left, and didn’t have time to properly say sorry. So, I’m really sorry, Teach. I should’ve approached our conversation way differently.”

“Well, you know about my Crest now.”

“Yeah but it was obvious you felt forced to tell me. That’s never how I—you feeling like that made the whole thing sour, so I couldn’t even really enjoy that tidbit of knowledge.”

The Crest of Flames kept fading to the back of his mind because every time he thought about it, he only remembered Byleth’s sharp turn on her heel, not bothering to look back. She only said it to placate him, very much like how he only said certain things to get people to leave him alone when he was a kid. “I kept thinking about how lousy you must’ve been feeling because of me being insensitive, and so… I just wanted to do something to show you I’m sorry.”

Byleth stares at the potted soil for way too long than is necessary. Are there worms in there? Or little roly-polies that he never noticed? Maybe she can smell the fancy horse shit?

“I accept your apology,” she says. “And, I forgive you, Claude.”

He sighs in relief. “Well I’m glad for it, Teach. I won’t do that to you again, promise.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod. “Anyway, we better get going. That homework isn’t going to write itself.”

Claude walks in step with her. “And here I was hoping you’d just trust that I’m a fast reader and quick study without having to prove it.”

“I know you are, but Seteth still needs proof that I’m actually giving you all work to do.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Seteth. The actual headmaster of this fine academy. Can’t say I envy you for having him as a boss. But you’re doing a real good job of instructing us, Teach. Dunno why he doesn’t just believe you when we’re always coming back alive from missions.”

“Lots of people need proof that something is real or true before they can believe it,” she says. He wonders if that’s a passive-aggressive jab at him, but her tone is its usual calm self with underlying honesty.

When they get to the classroom, she asks, “Can you open the door please? I don’t wanna drop this pot.”

“Of course, Teach,” he agrees, pushing both the doors forward. “Ladies fir—”

“_Surprise_!” comes the collective shouts of over a dozen voices, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. (Thankfully, he keeps an embarrassing yelp at bay.)

Claude looks around at his classmates. Most are beaming at him (why are Mercedes and Annette here? Now it makes sense why the latter ran off before) from around one of the tables where food is laid out, and a very colorful cake with fruit is situated at the center. A box wrapped in gray gift paper is next to it. Pots of sunflowers and white daisies decorate the space around the pillars, and a colorful banner in yellows and greens that spell out, ‘_Happy Birthday Claude_’, hangs across the middle of the room’s ceiling.

“Wh… What is all this?” he asks, genuinely shocked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lysithea replies. “It’s your birthday celebration!”

“Yeah I kinda figured that out but how—I’ve never even said—”

“Why didn’t you tell us about your birthday, jerk?!” Hilda walks up to him and jabs another finger in his shoulder. “The professor had to guess and found out it already passed!”

“I…,” he looks to Byleth who still wears that neutral expression on her face, “didn’t think it mattered to know.”

“How can it not matter?” asks Raphael. “We gotta celebrate our leader’s birthday! You’re always real excited to celebrate ours. Why not yours?”

Because someone always tries to kill him on these days. Remind him that he’s not wanted and breathing is punishable by death. Or acid. Or a dagger in the back. And he’s not a superstitious man, but three times in a row can’t just be coincidence. That’s why he stopped. A waste of resources, a waste of time. Time better spent mixing poisons, practicing archery, or cooking his own meals instead.

Except that was in Almyra. And his classmates here don’t really know anything about who he is—who he was, or where he comes from. He wants to keep it that way. At least… until he’s sure they won’t think any less of him for being an outsider.

_But this gesture still…_

“What’s wrong, Claude?” Ignatz asks. “Do you not like it? Or are you… upset?”

“No, no I’m,” he shakes his head, “just not sure what to say. But,” he smiles, and he doesn’t need to force himself this time, “I guess all I can say is thank you. This is thoughtful.”

“Glad you like it,” Leonie says. “It was the professor’s idea.”

Claude looks at Byleth, because of course she’d be the one to suggest it. “Teach? You did this for me?”

She holds the pot tighter in her hands. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me when your birthday is, but I do know it was this past month. And you don’t need to ever tell me, I guess. But I still wanted to do something for you. It’s as I said before: birthdays are nice because it’s a celebration of you living another year. Of being in people’s lives. You help me make everyone in here feel appreciated, so now it’s your turn.”

Gods, and to think he gave her just a lousy tomato plant.

“Although,” she adds, “I can’t take all the credit. Sylvain encouraged me to do this for you.”

When Claude looks to him, he gets a smile back. “Yeah, but we as a class all worked together to do this for you. We cooked the food and made the cake, and all pitched in to get you a gift! And hell, we would’ve never have done this if Professor Byleth didn’t bring it up in the first place.”

“Well?” Felix crosses his arms. “Are you gonna eat the food or what? Can’t let it go bad in this heat. Ashe, Leonie, and Bernadetta worked hard on it. The cake was made by Lysithea and Mercedes, so you better thank them.”

“And _we_,” starts Hilda, pointing between her and Ignatz, “made the decorations. Aren’t they cute? They are; no need to give us praise. Marianne and Lorenz picked out the flowers. The professor and Sylvain picked out your gift! Everyone else helped out with other little things.”

_They really did all of this, just for me._

“I hope you like the cake,” Mercedes says. “I know I’m not in your class, but I wanted to help out! Professor Byleth said you don’t really like sweet things, so we tried to use natural sweetness instead with the fruit. And went easy on the chocolate filling.”

“Uh, I’m not in your class either!” Annette starts. “But I wanted to be here! Because, well, everyone looked like they were having fun getting everything together and after Mercie was asked for help, I wanted to help too but I’m not good at cooking so I—”

“You can sing though,” Claude reminds. When Annette sucks in a sharp gasp, he can’t help but grin. “Maybe you can make a birthday song. What was that little ditty about the creepies?”

“Oh, I’ve heard that one,” Felix comments, sounding interested.

“_What_?! N-No! I don’t have a _song_! You two must have h-heard someone else!” She puffs out her cheeks, shoulders hunched as she pouts at Felix. “Oooh, Felix, you’re evil! How could you tell them?! That was supposed to stay between us!”

“Uh,” he looks genuinely confused, blinking, “I didn’t say anything to them. Like ever.”

“Nah, he didn’t say anything. I heard you in the greenhouse one time,” Claude informs. “But I was kinda busy that day so I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

“I am wanting to be hearing this creepies song,” Petra tells Annette, which only makes her face grow redder. “I am most curious.”

They get to eating after that. Pheasant roasts with berry sauce, Gronder meat skewers, country-style red turnip plates, and even Gautier cheese gratin. All dishes he enjoys, and ones Byleth has seen him eat, he guesses. Everyone lets Claude choose what he wants before they get their own portions.

He hesitates for only a second. He reminds himself that his classmates don’t know who he really is, and the most animosity he’s seen from them were toward people who were literally trying to kill them in the heat of battle. It’s fine. Just this once. It’ll be more suspicious if he doesn’t take anything.

Raphael and Felix push together two tables so everyone can sit around each other, and pretty soon the classroom is lively with chatter and comments about how good the food is. Ashe and Leonie beam and Bernadetta blushes so hard that Claude’s sure her face is going to burst.

The cake is vanilla breading with an Albinean berry glaze, he’s told. The filling between the two layers is chocolate mousse with banana slices. The decorations on top consists of a thin layer of crushed walnuts, and pieces of fruit: kiwis, strawberries, blueberries, peaches, and grapes. They’re organized neatly around the circumference of the cake and stacked next to each other in the center.

It’s good. Real good. Not overly sweet, and refreshing. A delicious dessert to fight off the summer heat. (And the best part: no poison.)

There’s only one present, as that’s all they could afford on the budget, but Claude has no complaints. Especially when he opens it to find a glass and porcelain chess set safely tucked away in the box.

Gingerly he lays out all the pieces on the glass board. Everyone else awes at it, and congratulates Sylvain and Byleth for doing such a good job at finding it.

Lorenz challenges Claude to a game, and then pretends he’s rusty when he loses against him. (Like hell he was going to let Lorenz win on his special belated day.) But for most people, chess isn’t for them so they go back to chatting and munching on the food so it doesn’t go to waste. He vaguely hears something about Byleth beating up some guys in a tavern when Raphael comments on how strong she is.

In a side conversation, Hilda asks Byleth what’s the pot for. After she replies that Claude gifted it to her, Hilda clicks her tongue and looks over to him with a, ‘Are you serious?’ look, not even needing to ask why Byleth was given it.

He’s got a feeling he’ll have an impromptu encounter with Dorothea later in the week.

After a while, Byleth is finally alone. She’s still finishing up her slice of cake as she watches everyone mingle or attempt to learn chess, courtesy of Sylvain and Lorenz.

“This was a great party,” Claude says, sitting next to her. “And what’s this about you getting into a bar fight?” he asks with a laugh.

“It wasn’t a bar fight. Some guys thought they could get something out of me that I wasn’t going to give, so I made it loud and clear they’re not allowed to touch me.”

“Oh geez. Teach, what happened?”

“Don’t worry. It sounds worse than it actually was. I’m fine, and Catherine was there to dissolve the situation. But I’m glad you’re liking the party so far.”

“Yeah,” he affirms with a nod, “I really do appreciate you doing this for me. Definitely wasn’t expecting it, so kudos to you for actually surprising me.”

“I’m glad you like it,” replies Byleth. “And you look like you’re enjoying yourself. Feeling appreciated, even. That’s what I wanted.”

He gives a soft laugh. “Yeah, you definitely nailed that. But damn, now I feel like I gotta get you something more than a tomato plant!”

“That’s okay. I like this. When they grow, I’ll ask Ashe or Bernadetta to help me cook something with them.”

“Figured you’d appreciate a food gift. And, y’know, that offer to cook you something still stands. I can even use the tomatoes. You don’t need to ask Ashe or Bernie.”

“Ah, that’s right. Well, one day I’ll take you up on that offer. But I do like this plant. Thank you again.”

“Yeah, I didn’t take you for a jewelry person.” He points to the heart necklace, and Byleth looks down to touch it. “Did Hilda make it for you?”

“No, Sylvain bought it for me when we went gift shopping.”

Oh.

“…He did, huh?”

Byleth hums. “I like it. It’s not flashy, but simple.”

“I’d be careful, Teach. A student getting you a gift like that? People might think it means something else. Especially if it’s got a little heart.”

“It’s a gift from a… friend,” she says in a way that makes it sound like she’s testing its pronunciation. “He told me I can add more charms to it later. I’m thinking of adding a flower. Or a fish. I’d have to go to the shop to see what other ones they have.”

So, Sylvain is her friend now. A friend who is probably expecting something down the line. Claude is savvy enough to know that there’s a high chance it’s bed-shaped. That’s not fair of him to assume, sure, but the redhead has a reputation most people wouldn’t like to brag about. What’s he supposed to think?

“Claude,” starts Byleth after a pause, “I wanted to talk to you about what happened before we left. You apologized, and I accepted it. Forgave you, because I do. But I have to apologize as well.”

“Why? What for?”

Byleth pushes around a cake crumb with her fork. “I only got so upset because I thought we were… friends. But you wouldn’t believe me, and it hurt. Sylvain helped me understand what a friend is, and by definition, I realize now that you’re not one to me.”

Wait, what?

“I don’t know anything about you,” she says without giving him a chance to respond. “Don’t know your favorite color, your favorite tea, nothing about your family, or any of those little things. Things that friends tell each other. I had to guess what you’d like as food based on memory from the times we’ve eaten together in the dining hall. Sylvain suggested the chess set as a present, because you played a game with him once, apparently. I didn’t even know that was one of your hobbies.”

She meets his eyes with a focused stare. “I’m sorry for assuming, or making you uncomfortable. I’m an instructor, even if I’m as young as everyone here. I should’ve been more professional. Appropriate. I don’t know how to have friends, or how to be one, so I apologize if I was ever pushy with your birthday and things. I don’t know why you keep so much information about yourself a secret. But it has to be for a good reason, and it’s not my business if you don’t want it to be.”

And he’s so stunned, trying to process what the hell is happening right now, that he can’t reply in time when she adds again, “You’re not my friend, Claude. I understand now. You’re just my partner; kind of like a coworker. Friendship can’t be forced, because then it’s not genuine. So, I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll treat you like second in command from now on, and won’t hang out with you outside of academic matters and other things like that. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Teach, wait, I—,” but she’s already getting up from her seat, taking her plate with her. And maybe she didn’t even hear him, because all she does is pat his shoulder and say she’s glad he’s enjoying the party.

Or, was.

Byleth goes back to the food table and grabs more pheasant. Sylvain calls her over and asks if she wants to learn chess. They’re left on their own, as everyone else has broken up into little groups. Byleth makes a mistake with the knight piece and Sylvain brushes it off with a smile and wave. He demonstrates the directions it can maneuver around the board.

His hand is on hers, guiding it around the different squares. She nods in understanding, and doesn’t even try to swat his hand away. Not like she usually does.

Sylvain taps at his neck, then points at the charm she wears. Byleth brushes gentle fingers along the thin chain, and says something to him that has him smile wide. He chuckles, taking the heart charm between his fingers, admiring it. _Very_ closely.

Claude pushes away his slice of cake. He looks over to his right where the tomato plant was left sitting on the table. To think he thought he was being clever with getting her a gift like this. Something she needs to grow and nurture. To work for. Why did he think this was a good idea?

But she has to like it. Right? She likes tomatoes. And she goes to the greenhouse a lot, so she must like to garden. At least a little bit.

He sighs, shaking his head. Of course this wouldn’t be enough to fix what he broke. He was a naïve little fool to think it’d be that easy. Claude traces a finger along the top edge of the pot, staring at the muddy dark soil.

_You’re not the only one who doesn’t know how to have friends, Teach._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "when will you learn. when will you learn,, that your actions have cOnSeQuEnCeS!!!"
> 
> But uh, hope people liked the Sylveth I threw in here again! And by people, I mean me and like 3 others, possibly. Lol
> 
> Me @ myself: you already used rain as prop for Sylveth don't recycle   
Also me: i like seeing Sylvain in a wet shirt leave me _alone_
> 
> So yeah, I guess this is like, maybe the first really blatant kinda angst chapter? I don't know how much angst this story is going to have, but more is coming around certain events that'll take place. This just happens to be the first notable one. Though my idea or level of angst might be different compared to you all, so, I'm never really sure what to classify as angst here, ha ha.
> 
> Hmm, I wonder how Claude is going to fix this? Any guesses? 🤔
> 
> Oh, and I'll answer last chapter's comments later today! I haven't forgotten! I've just been busy again.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> **Edit 5/27/2020:** There's now fanart for this chapter drawn by tishtish4 on Twitter! It's the [Sylveth rain scene](https://twitter.com/tishtish4/status/1257152210552582144?s=20), which you can see here! Thanks so much for drawing it! 💕


	28. XXVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and Sylvain have a moment while looking for Claude's birthday present. Sylvain gifts her a necklace as they wait out the rain a plaza gazebo. As more people crowd the space for shelter, the two end up pressed front to front. She doesn't mind this closeness, and actually sort of likes it, for whatever reason. The next day, they, Mercedes, and a few others prepare the food for the party. Mercedes tells Sylvain she feels like Byleth has an innocence about her, and he can sort of understand why: she's never had friends before. Negative thoughts start to boil about her Crest, but they're immediately dispelled. Claude later returns to the monastery with a tomato plant and verbal apology for Byleth; she accepts both. The celebration actually surprises him, and he's a little touched at the gesture, despite his past horrid experiences with the occasion. But then Byleth drops a heavy conversation on him in private about not actually being friends. And despite wanting to be close to her for his own ambitions, the fact that she no longer considers him a friend, actually kind of... hurts.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXVIII ⧽  
  
Memories Missed

** _10th of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1180 ━_ **

Byleth is told that her class will be heading out to arrest Miklan a lot sooner than she had hoped.

The scouts have discovered his base in Kingdom territory. It’s in an abandoned fortress called Conand’s Tower. Her students are a little worried about having such a short time frame for training, so, she adjusts her schedule to give them more use of the training grounds and less time in the classroom.

No homework during this period—to which nobody complains—but they _are_ required to attend Manuela’s white magic seminars every day after dinner. (The woman only agreed because she owed Byleth a favor for safely returning her to her room after their girls’ night out.) Byleth knows not all of her students have an affinity for magic, or healing, but having even a little practice in the art could be the difference between life or death.

Mercedes had requested to join them this month in their training and the mission. She’s excellent with healing magic, so her assistance is a welcome blessing.

There isn’t enough time to teach them archery. She’ll have to schedule that in once they get back, and rely on her current few students who are good enough at the bow. (And as it happens, Mercedes knows how to use one; double blessing.) Instead, she trains everyone with exercises aimed at increasing dexterity so they can avoid as many bowman enemies and long-ranged ones as possible.

“Do not stress yourself out,” Sothis says as she hovers next to her in the bedroom.

Byleth grunts as she taps her quill against the parchment. It makes little ink dots as she does so. She’s trying out different formations based on the details she was given about the number of thieves and the layout of the surrounding terrain.

“Easier said than done. We head out in a little under a week. Everyone is working hard in their usual training, but also the supplemental white magic seminars. And that means I need to hire a few battalions; everyone can’t possibly be prepared enough to handle this assignment on their own. Fifteen teenage students is a pathetically small number to fight around 70 or more amoral thieves. Having more experienced soldiers is welcome.”

“You will not be alone, however. Were you not told that a veteran knight is to accompany you?”

Oh, that’s right. When she had been informed the class would head out soon, she was also told a man by the name of Gilbert will accompany her, along with his own battalion. That will also be a big help.

Sighing, she nods, and Sothis hums in response. “See? I know it is worrisome, but you shall be alright. If something should happen, you have Divine Pulse to aide you as well.”

Groaning, Byleth buries her face in her hand. “But there’s also the issues of the sword. I haven’t been able to practice using it with Catherine. I’ve been so preoccupied training my class that I haven’t trained myself in it.”

“It is highly possible that you will have to learn how to use it on this mission.”

She really hopes not. The sword can extend like a whip, and the last thing she wants is to accidentally slice up one of her students if they’re too close to the target. Maybe she shouldn’t use the whip feature then. Just regular melee range. At least until she has control over it.

“Take a break, Byleth,” Sothis suggests. “You have been holed up in your room for quite a while. It is almost time for dinner; go eat something.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“But of course. I would not suggest terrible ideas! No, I am here to look after you in times like these. Go. Eat now.”

“Are you hungry too?”

“…Perhaps. I do not feel hunger, but the thought of just eating is enticing. Get dessert this time. Another peach sorbet, specifically.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want. Maybe I should speak with my father about this dilemma first. Been a while since we’ve really talked.”

Sothis poofs away, back to her comfortable home in Byleth’s mind. The task of finding Jeralt proves tedious today, as he’s not in his office, and when she asks around, people tell her he might’ve gone to the Knight’s Hall. But he isn’t there. She does find Catherine talking with Rodrigue though.

When she asks about Jeralt, Catherine mentions he was here earlier chatting with them, but then said something about the cemetery.

“It’s just down a ways from here,” she informs. “If you go out and make a right, keep going straight until you see it. Kinda winds down the mountainside in different levels.”

“Alright, thank you.”

“No problem. By the way, sorry we haven’t gotten in your training with the Sword of the Creator. You’ve been pretty busy lately, as have I.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just learn how to use it during the mission. Or at least, start to.”

Catherine frowns, looking a little concerned. Rodrigue doesn’t seem any more chipper either. “I’m sorry that you and your class will be sent on short notice,” he comments. “I would go myself, but I must return back to Fraldarius territory. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

_Felix will probably be happy about that_. “I’ll do my best in completing this assignment. My students have been working hard, so, they should survive.”

That isn’t how she meant to word it because Catherine mumbles an, “Oh hell,” and Rodrigue gives a thoughtful hum, expression unchanging. “Well, Her Grace trusted you to complete this task, and so I can only place my faith in that assurance. I hope my son will prove dependable during this mission.”

“He will. That’s what I’ve been training him for.”

Byleth then politely excuses herself. The worry is starting to become overwhelming, and she wants to see Jeralt now instead of later.

The cemetery is where Catherine said it would be. Right next to the Knight’s Hall and the treasure vault. It’s bigger than she imagined. Several tiers of grassy land stack around the mountainside. It goes pretty far down, but still high enough that getting to it from the foot of the mountain is impossible.

A few people are here, leaving flowers or praying next to tombstones. There is a couple sitting on the steps of one of the few mausoleums, and a dog lounges on the grass underneath the shade of a standalone tree. Byleth reads along the engravings of the tombstones as she surveys the area for Jeralt. A lot of these are graves of fallen knights, but there are also plenty of clergy buried here. (She’s relieved she doesn’t read any student names on the ones she’s seen so far.)

Jeralt is on the second tier of the graveyard. He’s standing in front of a tombstone. A bundle of white and pink flowers are left at its base.

“Father,” she greets.

“Hey, By,” he greets back. “Nice timing. I was actually going to go find you. We haven’t had a meal together in a while.”

“What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing.”

He smiles slightly, turning his attention back to the tombstone. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.”

“A little, yeah.”

“I’m visiting your mother.”

Byleth reads the engraving on the stone:

> _Sitri Eisner  
_ _Beloved friend, wife and mother_
> 
> _1139 - 1159_
> 
> _Resting in the warm embrace of cherished memories._

She was only 20 years old when she died. That’s very young, and Byleth has so many questions on the tip of her tongue. She’ll finally get more answers about her past—about the mother she never knew, and yet, she remains silent, not even sure where to begin.

“I… didn’t know she was buried here,” she starts softly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about her, but I figure it’s time you did.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable talking about it?”

Jeralt nods. “I’ve kept stuff from you for too long.” He sits down on the grass and Byleth mimics him. “You look a lot like her, y’know. Almost a mirror image. I can see why Alois didn’t believe you were my kid at first.”

Byleth doesn’t say anything, and so Jeralt continues. “Sitri was a nun here at the monastery. Practiced white magic, mostly. She was kind and made friends with everyone she came across. Although she did have trouble expressing herself sometimes. Kind of like you. Loved to read, and was a great cook.” He hums a small laugh. “Goddess, was she a great cook. She also really loved flowers.”

He looks up at the sky with a smile, hands on his knees. “She knew a lot about flowers. Read every last book in the library on them. Sitri’s health wasn’t always the best; couldn’t really leave here because of it. So, every time I went on a mission, I’d bring her back a flower she’d never seen before. It always lit up her face, and she’d save every single one too. Pressed them in a book. Don’t know where she put it though, otherwise I would’ve kept it after her passing.”

His smile falters for only a second, before it appears on his face again. “She loved hearing my stories of what I saw outside the monastery. Your mother laughed and smiled so much. But the times she smiled the most, was when she was pregnant with you.”

Jeralt looks at Byleth, that fond smile still on his face. She wonders how often he’s seen Sitri in her. Or when exactly it was that she started to look like her mother. “She didn’t really get to know you, but that didn’t stop her from loving you with all of her heart. She couldn’t wait to meet you, and I wish you had.”

“How did she die?” she asks gently.

He looks away from her, back at the tombstone. His smile falls. “Childbirth. I don’t… know all of the exact details. But she lost too much blood, and there was a complication with you as she was giving birth. From what I was told… Sitri begged the healers—begged Rhea—to save you, at the risk of her own life.”

_So, the reason my mother isn’t with us—why my father doesn’t like talking about her, why he gets sad thinking about her, is because it was… my fault she died._

When she’s quiet for too long, Jeralt says, “Hey. Byleth. Look at me.” She does, hesitantly. Jeralt has a stern expression on his face. He clasps a hand on her leg, giving it a firm squeeze. “I know what you’re thinking. And you need to stop. It’s not your fault she’s gone. These things happen.”

“But all those times in the past that I asked you about Mother, you got really sad. I’m surprised a part of you doesn’t hate me for taking away the love of your life. Now I understand why you drink so much.”

He gives a grunt that almost sounds like a laugh. “I don’t drink _that_ much. Losing your mother is a part of it, yeah, but it’s mostly other things.”

She must not look convinced, because his frown runs deeper. “Byleth,” he starts. Jeralt grasps her hand, holding it tight, “you’re my daughter. My child. I could never hate you, especially for something that couldn’t have possibly been your fault. Your mother died, yeah. But there was a high risk you both would’ve been lost had you not been saved. Then I wouldn’t have either of you.”

When she ducks her head, he follows along, not letting her look away from him. “I don’t say it a lot, ‘cause words aren’t really my thing. But I don’t want you to ever forget that I love you. No matter what. Okay, kid?”

Byleth nods. “Okay.”

“Good.” He leans away and stares at the floral offerings. “But sometimes, I do wonder how different our lives would’ve been had your mother lived through that childbirth. You probably wouldn’t have been a mercenary. You could’ve gone to school here as a student. Even now, you still could’ve been one at your age.”

Oh, that’s right. Her age. If Sitri died when Byleth was born, and that was two decades ago…

“I’m 20,” she says with realization.

“For now, yeah. You’ll be 21 this Horsebow Moon.”

Jeralt goes through his pocket and takes out a small drawstring pouch. He opens it up and pours its contents onto his open palm. A silver ring. It’s shaped vaguely like a vine in the center. Jewels in violet and magenta are situated within them, making it look almost like a burst of flames.

“This is all I have left to remember her,” Jeralt says. “I proposed to her with this ring. Every now and again she’d look at it fondly, just because. She’d hold out her arm to admire it on her finger. Watch the jewels glisten in the sunlight. Trace her finger over the band. Then hold it close, over her heart. And that always made me smile, without fail.”

He hands it to her, and Byleth takes it with a nimble touch. She traces her finger along the grooves of the ring. Despite being over two decades old, it looks brand new. She wonders if Jeralt kept polishing it when he was alone.

“In time, this ring will be yours.”

She snaps her head up to him, and a big smile appears on his face. “Not saying you have to get married or anything, but one day it might happen. I’ll give you your mother’s ring so you can propose to that special someone. Or they can propose to you with it. Whichever way. I dunno if you already have someone you fancy. But things can change over time, and maybe you’ll find someone else to—”

“Oh, Claude.”

Immediately his expression falls into a flat stare, as flat as his tone when he says, “What.”

Byleth makes little clicking sounds with her tongue, wiggling her fingers. Her feline companion lifts his head from where he had been sniffing a spot near another grave. He stands to attention and hurries over to her. Without hesitation, he jumps into her lap and purrs as she gives him head scratches.

“Were you… talking about that cat?” Jeralt asks.

“Yeah. His name is Kitty Claude because he acted a lot like Claude when I first saw him. Fed him a fish I had just caught, and since then he’s been really friendly with me. Affectionate even. Always meows for my attention. He loves it when I give him scratches and pets. Likes to sit on my lap and be held. My favorite thing is when he sits in that way that makes him look like a bread loaf.”

Jeralt grunts, staring at the animal. “Well, I’d rather _this_ Claude rub up against your leg than the other one.”

That’s a very weird image, and Byleth raises an eyebrow at her father. “Why would human Claude be rubbing up against me?”

Her father groans, holding his head in his hand. “Forget I said anything. _Please_ forget I said anything. Goddess, I don’t want to think about that wiseass actually—ugh.”

A part of her feels a bubble of a laugh threatening to slip past her lips. But she keeps it to herself, because Jeralt looks like he wants to disappear into the earth. Byleth hands him back the ring. “I don’t know if marriage is for me,” she admits. “I’m still learning about the different emotions I’m capable of. And romantic love is… one I don’t feel. Yet. Or maybe I never will. I can only guess what it’s like based on how I see it displayed in others.”

“Well, don’t count yourself out yet, By.” Jeralt tucks the ring back in the pouch and stows it away in his pocket once more. “I’m still gonna give this to you. Even if you never get married, I still want you to have it.”

“Okay.” She scratches Kitty Claude behind his ears, and he closes his eyes again. Soft purrs vibrate in his little furry brown body. “I’ll take good care of it when that happens.”

Jeralt hums.

A comfortable silence settles between them as they stay seated in front of Sitri’s grave. Though Byleth is glad she knows a little more about her mother now, she can’t help but feel a strange twinge of sorrow that she’ll never get to know her. See her. Hear her voice or feel her embrace. Eat her cooking and have bedtime stories read to her.

_I wonder what it’s like to have a mother?_

Learning of all this almost made her forget about why she had originally sought out Jeralt.

“Father.”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you… had advice.”

“Depends on what it’s for.”

She explains her doubts over the mission this month because her class really is small. And none of them have learned how to command battalions yet. She hasn’t even gotten to test out the Sword of the Creator either. Though a part of her is flattered that Rhea thinks she’s up to the task, Byleth still isn’t sure of that herself.

“When we were mercenaries,” she adds, “I never doubted I could do something. To land a kill, or apprehend a target. But I was also around experienced fighters, and you. My students are… not like that, even if they now have experience taking lives. I know we’ll have Gilbert and his battalion with us, although I don’t know how he fights.”

“I’ve met Gilbert a few times,” Jeralt notes. “He’s strong, and a dutiful man. Experienced. But knowing that won’t erase your doubts. All I can tell you is proceed with caution. More than necessary. Don’t use that sword unless you absolutely have to, at least until you learn how to control it. And most importantly, stay calm. When you’re calm, your students will be calm too. You can’t think straight if you’re in a panic.”

“Okay, I’ll remember that.”

Jeralt nods. “How about you take the guys with you?”

“You mean… your mercenaries?”

“Why not? They know you; know how you move, how you work. When to get out of your way and when to assist. Your own battalion to command. They’d be happy to work alongside you again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Not like they’re doing much these days anyway.”

“That’d help a lot, actually. Thank you, Father.”

Jeralt smiles at her again. “That’s what fathers are for, By. Anyway, time for food. We’re cutting it too close to the end of the dinner hours. Or do you not want to eat?”

“You know I always do.”

He manages a single laugh as he stands. Byleth follows suit. “Then let’s get going. But leave that damn cat here.”

“He’s comfortable in my arms though,” she replies. Kitty Claude yawns, then looks at Jeralt with big green eyes. He gives a little meow.

“Ugh, fine. Not like you could keep a pet before anyway like most kids growing up. And you’ve already named him. But I don’t want that thing on the table.”

“He’ll behave,” she assures, scratching the cat underneath his chin, “won’t you, Claude?”

She gets a meow in response, and more purrs. Jeralt only grunts before they make their way through the graveyard. Byleth says a silent good bye to her mother, and promises she’ll visit her soon her own.

_I never knew you, but I think I would’ve liked to have you as my mother, Sitri._

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth had a pleasant dinner with her father, although Jeralt kept making comments about how she shouldn’t be feeding Kitty Claude under the table (which she kept doing all throughout). He eyes the little creature even as they’re walking out of the dining hall since the cat follows them wherever they go.

“Thought these animals were supposed to be loners,” he says.

“I think he’s attached to me,” Byleth replies. “I was actually thinking of making him a collar of some kind, but I don’t know if he’d like that.”

“He’s not your pet; he’s a stray. Just a cat that wanders around the monastery.”

“But he spends a lot of time with me.” And maybe it’s silly to want Kitty Claude nearby as if he really was her pet. Especially now that the original Claude can’t be considered her friend. The thought of this new reality has her feeling a bit blue every time she thinks about it, but decides it’s of no real importance. There are more pressing things to concern herself with, like making sure all of her students stay alive during the mission.

“Like the human one doesn’t enough already?” Jeralt comments.

Ah, right, she hasn’t told him.

“Claude won’t be hanging around as often.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but can I ask why?”

At first she wants to tell him that she doesn’t want to talk about it. But he’s her father. She wants to share with him all the experiences she goes through here in the monastery. So, she does. About the argument, the way she understood Sylvain’s explanation, and the reconciliation with Claude during his surprise birthday celebration.

Jeralt rubs at his chin, and sighs. “Well, I’ll agree that it’s not something you can force. But I think you’re going about this the wrong way, By. From what you’ve told me, sounds like you still want to be his friend. That’s why it hurt when you had that argument, and still does.”

“He doesn’t want to be my friend, though, and I’m not going to force him. Besides, I need to be… professional. I’m their instructor, and I shouldn’t be friends with my students.”

“Then who’d you be friends with?”

She’s quiet as she stares at the floor near his boot. “I don’t know. Maybe… Catherine. Or Manuela. People my age.”

“Manuela is not your age. And Catherine’s older than you too by several years. Besides, they don’t really seem like your ‘crowd’. For a lot of reasons.”

That’s true. While she respects them both as colleagues and fighters, she can’t say she’s ever had the urge to hang out with them. But then who can she be friends with? Sylvain called her his friend. Can she really be his friend though? His reputation might make people believe she’s just another one of his potential conquests. Not that she cares—since it isn’t true—but she wonders if it’d be awkward anyway. Unless, they hang out together with other people.

Byleth touches the heart charm around her neck with gentle fingers.

“I think I know what I have to do,” she tells Jeralt. “Thank you, Father.”

“Don’t feel like I really did anything, but you’re welcome. And by the way, who gave you that necklace?”

“Sylvain. He said to think of it as a gift from a friend.”

Jeralt frowns, his expression turning sour. “Did he now?”

Byleth nods. “Actually, I’m going to go see him. If I can observe him and his friends, like what they do and how they act, then maybe I’ll understand more of how to have my own friends. He’s known Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid for a long time, so there’s a lot of familiarity there already.”

“Kid, that’s not exactly—”

“I’ll see you later, Father. There’s a lot to do before the mission.”

As she’s walking away, she hears her father sigh deeply. And turning the corner of the hallway, she sees him glance down at Kitty Claude who’s staring up at him. “And you? What do you want?” They’re out of earshot by the time she leaves the building. She hopes they can get along.

On her way across the lawn of the classrooms, she spots human Claude lounging on one of the benches, reading a book. Stretched out in a languid way that very much reminds her of his feline counterpart. He notices her too, giving a smile and a wave. He hops off the bench, tucking the book under his arm.

“Hey, Teach! Nice timing. I was wondering if—”

“Hello, Claude. Do you have plans for the upcoming mission? Questions on the training exercises and related topics?”

“Uh, well no. But recently I heard some _interesting_ whispers about a place called Aby—”

“Then you’ll have to tell me during my office hours or save it for the breaks we have in-between lessons. I’m sorry, but I’m kind of busy. There’s a lot to do before we leave on the mission next week. And right now, I need to talk with Sylvain. Have a nice rest of the evening, and don’t forget we meet at the training grounds tomorrow morning, as usual.”

She gives him a wave before continuing on her path.

As she takes her first steps onward, Sothis hovers behind her, looking back. “He is just standing there, staring, as you retreat. Oh, now he has turned away. Rubbing the back of his neck as he walks off. Hmm, he looks a little disappointed you brushed him off like that.”

“I didn’t brush him off,” she replies quietly, not wanting people to think she’s talking to herself. “I told him he could still tell me, just not right now.”

“Byleth, have you considered that he actually wishes to spend time with you? You have hardly had a moment alone with him since he returned. One that is not limited to academia, anyway.”

No, she hasn’t. Though she’d like to go back to hanging out with Claude, she knows now she came on a little strong wanting friendship when that’s not how he saw their dynamic. She still gets along with him as partners. Still stays after class with him to go over lecture notes when he asks or answer follow-up questions.

“I speak to him enough,” she replies. “Enough that’s acceptable for being partners. For being a professor and a student. Besides, lately all I can think about is the upcoming mission. I wouldn’t be good company alone.”

Sothis groans and shakes her head. When Byleth reaches the doors of the training grounds, she once again disappears in a puff of green glitter, back to her comfortable abode in Byleth’s mind.

_I know you miss him. Miss spending time with him like you used to._

Byleth ignores her and pushes open one of the heavy doors. She’s not too surprised to find Felix and Sylvain here. Ever since joining her class, the former reprimands the latter for not trying hard enough in their training sessions. So seeing Sylvain lounging on the steps while Felix takes a few swings at the training dummy is an expected scene.

She is a little curious why Dimitri and Ingrid are also here. Though, she supposes the supplemental academic half-day has long since been over. Anyone can use this area for sparring now, and not just her class.

“Oh, Professor!” Sylvain greets with a wave. “Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour. Thought you’d be in your room by now.”

Felix acknowledges her with a nod before he’s back at the training dummy. Dimitri greets her politely as does Ingrid, and then they return to sparring with their lances.

Byleth approaches Sylvain, sitting next to him on the steps. “It seems like those three are always in here. Do they ever take a break?”

Sylvain chuckles. “Yeah, believe it or not. You just happen to always catch them when they’re hard at work. Faerghus culture kinda hammers into us to always strive for being the ‘perfect’ knight, whatever the hell that means.”

“You don’t care about that?”

He shrugs. “It’s whatever to me. I’d rather hang around my friends or beautiful women on my spare time. Like I’m doing right now,” he adds with a wink. “So, what did you come visit us for?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Sitting up perfectly straight, Sylvain grins wide. “Oh?! Finally want to go out on a date with me, huh? We can go right now! Have a late dinner in the town, maybe rent a room at an inn if it gets too dark, and then you and I can—”

“I’m still not going to have sex with you, Sylvain.”

“No, that’s not what I was gonna say!” he retorts. “I was _going_ to say we can cuddle on the bed. Although, you do bring that up every time we have a conversation like this. A guy’s gotta wonder if someone,” he smirks, leaning closer, “has actually been thinking a lot about this. Have you, Professor?”

Byleth shakes her head. “I don’t care to experience sex, and I don’t know if I ever will. The same thing with romantic love. Lust, and the desire to be loved by a special person, or loving another person that deeply, those aren’t things I’ve ever felt. I might feel them in the future; I might not. But for right now, I do want to understand how friendship works. That’s why I came here.”

“…Really?” And he has the most dumfounded expression on his face, that she wonders where it was that she wasn’t clear with her intentions. “You… want to study friendship?”

“Yes. You have a close bond with Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri from what I’ve heard. I want to… see it. The way you regard and support one another. How you have fun together. What that bond built over years has amounted to. And maybe, by observing how other people have friends, I’ll understand how to have some of my own one day.”

He looks at her with a neutral face, briefly mumbling something about Mercedes being right. About what, she doesn’t know. But Mercedes might be another person to ask about friendship. She and Annette are two peas in a pod.

Sylvain scratches the back of his head, looking confused. “I don’t mind helping you, Professor, but I think you’re… thinking too hard about this. Friendship just happens in most cases. Other times, people want friends because they’re lonely, and so try to be everyone’s friend as a result. And then there are the people who pretend to want to be your friend, only because they have a hidden motive.”

“But yours isn’t like that with them. It’s why I want to see it in action.”

“Er, well, I mean you can spend a leisure day with us? Although I gotta warn you, it was me who suggested all four of us hang out for once. Felix needed the most convincing, especially. We’re not as… close, as we used to be because of noble obligations keeping us apart and uh, other things.”

“That’s fine. I want to observe friendship in all of its stages and forms.”

“Yeah uh, but, I dunno how they’d feel about being a ‘research subject’. I of course, don’t mind. I’ll take any excuse to spend time with you.”

Research subject. Is that what she thinks of them as? That wasn’t her intention, but maybe Sylvain has a point. And, their interactions will now be tainted with the knowledge that she’s trying to learn, so they won’t act natural. It’ll be awkward, and she doesn’t want them to feel like she’s using them.

_Then how can I understand what it’s like? I don’t know what to do…._

“Hey.” Sylvain scoots closer to her, talking in a gentler tone. “Let’s not tell them about this little observation of yours. You look kind of ashamed,” does she? What does that even look like on her? “but I know it’s coming from a genuine place of wanting to understand. So, how about you just hang out with us tomorrow? So you can see the good and the bad?”

“Yes, that sounds fine. Thank you for this, Sylvain. I owe you.”

He smiles at her. “No problem, Professor. You can pay me back with a kiss, huh?” When she just stares at him, he laughs. “I’m joking! …But one on the cheek would be fine, right?”

Ingrid walks up to them, lance in hand. “Is he bothering you, Professor? Because I can and will reprimand him physically if I have to. And it _will_ hurt to prove a point.”

“Just chatting with her, Ingrid! Don’t have a cow!” defends Sylvain, holding up his hands in front of him. “I don’t need you to break my arm like last time.”

“I didn’t break your arm. Didn’t even sprain it.”

Felix and Dimitri walk over to them. Byleth notices that Felix ignores him when Dimitri tries to compliment him on his training today. As if he isn’t even there. Dimitri has the slightest frown on his face when Felix passes him, but he quickly shakes it away, smiling at Byleth.

“He can be a little bitch sometimes,” comments Felix. “But the professor probably already knows that.”

“Please, Felix, don’t say such things,” Dimitri chides. “Especially in front of the professor.”

“Why would she care about my language? She didn’t even care when I saw her breasts threatening to burst from her lacey nightgown that one time.”

“_WHAT_?!” Sylvain yells, shooting up from where he had been sitting. He grasps Felix’s upper arms in a vice grip looking almost manic. “Y-You saw _what_? Where? _How_? What the _fuck_?!”

“Stop being such a _pig_!” shouts Felix, trying to push him away.

Dimitri’s face grows a deep red and he’s left stuttering in confusion, avoiding Byleth’s eyes (and her chest). Ingrid smacks Sylvain upside the head and yanks him away from Felix. A little argument starts up, a few more names are thrown back and forth, and Byleth decides to clarify before it gets worse.

“He’s making it sound racier than it was,” she starts. They quiet down, listening. “He, Linhardt, and Bernadetta all came to my door really early in the morning, the day after the Rite of Rebirth. They wanted to join my class, but I was so groggy I didn’t realize I still had my slip on. That’s how I greeted them. Won’t happen again, but it happened, so that’s that.”

“See?” Felix nods her way. “Like I said. Doesn’t care.”

“Felix, there are still ways to say these things!” Ingrid scolds. “Both Sylvain _and_ you were being inappropriate! Look at His Highness. He can’t even peel his eyes off the ground! See what you did?” She huffs, shaking her head. “I am so _so_ sorry for their behavior, Professor.”

Ingrid then tries to get Dimitri to stop hanging his head but he mutters excuses and then Sylvain is apologizing, telling him he looks like he’s about to melt. Felix makes a comment about Dimitri being a prude, and then Dimitri explains in a stutter that he’s just being polite and chivalrous.

For a second, Byleth can imagine them all as little children, out playing in the snowy landscape of Faerghus. And though they argue, there’s a kind of comfortable routine to it. Inside quips and call backs to old habits that she doesn’t get because she hasn’t known anyone like that for that long. A sense of familiarity that was only possible after years of knowing one another.

But, she still hopes she’ll see more positive sides of their bond tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got _a lot_ of comments on the last chapter, which kinda shocked me. I'm happy to have received so many! I'm just... still a little stunned. You folks really love angst, huh? LOL
> 
> Kitty Claude returns! I know quite a few people like him, so he'll be sprinkled into the story here and there.
> 
> So, obviously, this is the beginning of spoilers from content revealed in the Ashen Wolves DLC. There's more coming too. Additionally, the Wolves themselves are going to appear in this fic very soon, so if you don't wanna be spoiled by anything, I suggest maybe taking a break from this work until you've managed to finish the DLC. Or watch clips of it on YouTube beforehand. And if you don't care about spoilers, that's fine too.
> 
> Next time, the childhood quartet will get a spotlight. (But don't worry; Claude still has a POV next chapter.) I've said this before, but the cubs are my second favorite group after the fawns, so you'll be seeing more of them where it's appropriate for what I have planned. However, I'm still unsure of how to write the friendship between Dimitri, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid in a realistic way at this point in their lives so... well I'm gonna do my best. Just wanted to put a disclaimer here in case the way I interpret their friendship pre-timeskip sounds a little clunky next chapter. 😅
> 
> Finals are quickly approaching for me, which means I have a lot of school work to finish before their deadlines. So, if I don't update again for a week (like what happened last week), it's because of that. There's a chance I might not be able to update for more than one week too during this last stretch of the spring semester, so, I deeply apologize! I love writing this story and sharing it with you all, but school really stresses me out and eats up a lot of my time and mental endurance. 😓
> 
> But no matter when the next installment comes for this fic (which will hopefully be next week), I will still see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	29. XXIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth finds Jeralt paying his respects to someone buried at the Garreg Mach cemetery. Finally comfortable to talk, he tells her about Sitri, her mother. Byleth also finds out her age, 20, as Sitri died giving birth to her about 20 years ago. The wedding ring Jeralt proposed to her with is the only keepsake he has of her. He tells Byleth one day he'll pass it on to her so she can give it to that special someone, should that day ever come. After meeting Kitty Claude, Byleth tells Jeralt about her strained relationship with the human one. Jeralt tries to reason with her, but an idea comes to Byleth before he can finish explaining. She then has a short encounter with Claude who she dismisses politely to be 'professional', despite Sothis telling her that they both appear to want to reconnect with each other. Byleth ignores her, and asks Sylvain for another favor: to spend a day with him and his friends so she can learn how friendship works. While he thinks it's a bit of an odd request, he agrees, even though he feels like she's making things harder than they need to be.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXIX ⧽  
  
Words in Absence

** _11th of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1180 ━_ **

Early Sunday afternoon, about an hour before her outing, Byleth pays a visit to the cathedral. With all that’s been happening, she hasn’t gotten a chance to check the counselor’s box as much as she’d like. The counselor is happy to see her again, and says she’s been doing her best to write replies to the students meanwhile.

“I haven’t gotten the same confessions again, so I pray that’s a good sign, and not a bad one. I did my best, wondering: what would the professor say?”

Byleth nods, opening the box. “I’m sure that your genuine intentions worked. You’ve been offering me suggestions on how to reply to them, after all. You’re not as incapable of helping the younger generation as you think.”

The elderly nun smiles. “I can see why you’re such an effective instructor. Always encouraging others.”

“Well, I’m actually concerned about what I might find in the box this time. I had to let go some students after the Rite of Rebirth. They might be upset with me.”

She doesn’t find any of those in the box, however. Byleth wonders if they had already been answered by the nun, and the woman is just too considerate to mention it to her. Byleth kind of doesn’t want to ask, either. She still hasn’t looked through the evaluation forms, but maybe she should later today.

Further down in the box, she comes across a curious slip of parchment. Just like all the others, except this time, she recognizes the handwriting. Neat enough to be legible, and with the slightest curves of letters like “s” and “c”. A medium size, not overbearingly big, and not frustratingly small. Words are evenly spaced together in straight lines of the paragraph, not falling off an invisible ground plane of the sentences.

> _I often overhear people commenting on how ‘strange’ I am. Been happening ever since I first came to the monastery, but lately the comments are more frequent. And I’ve seen the looks they give me in passing. Even people from my own house say things about me. Not sure why it flared up all of a sudden, though. I’m used to it: being called ‘odd’ or ‘weird’, among other, more vulgar things I shouldn’t repeat. I don’t get it, honestly; shouldn’t it be expected that everyone has their own unique outlook on life? I’m an individual, just like everyone else here. But all the whispers are starting to make me wonder—just the slightest bit—if I’m being too naïve._
> 
> _I don’t actually expect an answer from this little confessional, but I heard writing down thoughts like these help people process them quicker so they can move on. You know, get things off their chest and go about their day. Just wanted to try it myself. See if it works. I’ll probably be over it tomorrow. Only time will tell, I guess. _

  
  
Byleth folds the piece of paper back the way it was.

_This is Claude’s writing._

Have others always been talking about him behind his back? What are people saying about him? She hasn’t heard anything. Maybe it’s because she’s his professor, and others make a point not to make ill comments about her students where she can hear.

But apparently, this has been going on even before she decided to teach Claude’s class. Sure, he’s not the person who comes to mind when one thinks of a noble. But is that so strange? Everyone is an individual, like he said. How is he even weird? She’s the weird one, the girl who lacks basic human emotions, has no heartbeat, and does strange things like study friendship in other people.

Claude’s as normal as can be. But she’ll be paying attention from here on out to other people and see if she can catch them saying unsavory things about him.

_Is this one of his many secrets? Things he prefers not to tell me?_

“You have to write this one for me,” she says to the nun, handing her the note.

“Oh, is it a message from one of your students again?”

“Yes, and I’d rather they not find out I read this.”

The nun takes the parchment and with a quill, draws a line underneath the last sentence of the paragraph. It divides the confession from the response on the paper. There’s not a lot of room this time, so Byleth will have to be brief.

“Okay,” she tells the woman, “this is what you’ll say….”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢

  
  
  
After she’s done going through messages in the counselor’s box, Byleth leaves to meet Sylvain and the others. She’s wrapping her hair up in a bun when she catches sight of them at the gate of the monastery. Apparently they decided today to go have lunch at Mach Foothills. It’s not something they get to do often, but considering Sylvain and Felix are leaving on the mission tomorrow with Byleth’s class, Dimitri and Ingrid thought an afternoon outside of the monastery would be a nice change of scenery.

They’re all dressed in casual wear, including Byleth herself. Just plain blue shorts and a white cotton blouse so her skin breathes. She has the first three buttons undone as it strains against her chest otherwise, and Ingrid pinches Sylvain on the arm (hard) when she catches him staring. He cries out and rubs at the spot, claiming he was just looking at her necklace, and not her cleavage.

“When Sylvain mentioned you’d be joining us today, I was a little surprised,” Dimitri tells her. The five are currently maneuvering their way down the mountain on horseback. “I was sure you’d be preparing for the mission, Professor.”

“It’s why I’m able to each lunch with you all; this is my only leisure period,” she replies. “The rest of the day will be used to double-check our supplies in the caravans, as well as go over some business with the battalions. I almost assigned this day as an extra training block for my class, but everyone’s been working so hard. They need to rest if they’re going to be in prime condition for our journey.”

“You still should’ve done it,” Felix says. “Any training opportunity is never a waste.”

Sylvain shakes his head at him. “Yeah but the professor has a point. We can’t get through this alive if we’re already tired by the time we make it over there.”

“Says the slacker.”

“No, Sylvain is right,” Ingrid notes. “And that’s not something you often hear from me. Rest is as important as work. Although,” she looks to Byleth, “I am a little curious why you wanted to hang out with us, instead of students from your class. Not that I have complaints!”

Because she wants to understand how these four function as friends. But that’s already weird to say aloud, and she doesn’t want them to think she’s using them for something so silly or insensitive. It’s just, they’ve been friends for years—since they were small children, and they’d be perfect to observe to see or hear about how they got to this point.

“Well, it’s as I’ve told Dimitri before: I don’t mind spending time with students from other classes. I haven’t really gotten to know you specifically, Ingrid. And I’d like to.”

“Oh.” She smiles, cheeks turning a little pink. “W-Well, then I hope you won’t be disappointed. There’s really nothing to write home about with me.”

“That isn’t true,” Dimitri cuts in. “Professor, Ingrid is an incredibly hard worker. She’s also fair and kind.”

“Y-Your Highness, you don’t need to say—”

Felix grunts. “She can be a little naggy—,” and Ingrid shoots him a look, “but she keeps us out of trouble. And alive.”

“Mostly me,” Sylvain laughs. “She’s cleaned up one too many of my messes.”

“Translation: she’s prevented several women and their fathers from castrating you like the horny dog you are. How? Don’t know. But she’s a miracle worker, all things considered.”

“Oh Felix, you always say mean things to me, but I know that’s how you care.”

“Shut up.”

Sylvain laughs and Felix huffs, looking away. Ingrid sighs, and Dimitri smiles. He says, “I know Felix can come off as crass, Professor, but he does have the best intentions.” He’s sending a smile his way, but Felix is pointedly ignoring him, focusing ahead down the road. Dimitri frowns, looking the slightest bit sad.

That’s what she noticed yesterday too. And the only time Felix has ever mentioned him in conversation was during one of their recent class training sessions. All he said about him was that he has apparent monstrous strength, even more than Raphael. He also called Dimitri, ‘boar’, and not by his name or royal title. Maybe there’s a rift between them specifically out of the four friends. Something that damaged what they once had as children.

Just like with Rodrigue, that’s not her business. And she’s not going to ask about it either.

“Crass is an understatement,” Sylvain comments lightly. “But sometimes you need a friend like that. Willing to be blunt about things when you’re fucking up so you don’t step in even deeper shit.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Maybe not the best analogy, Sylv.”

“But do you disagree?”

“…No.”

Dimitri shakes his head, and gives the two a fond smile. It’s quiet for a while after that. Sylvain whistles a tune and Felix stays alert, as always. The silence is curious. She assumed they’d talk more. Or maybe her being here is making them nervous. Thinking they need to be proper around someone who’s a professor.

So to break the quietness in the air, Byleth asks how their training is going. Dimitri sadly comments on the amount of weapons he’s broken this week, and Ingrid tries to console him by saying it’s just proof he’s training hard. Felix replies for him—saying he’s never been good at handling delicate things—but immediately shuts up when Dimitri tries to make conversation with him about it.

Ingrid says she wishes Sylvain would train that hard, since all he does is philander around. A childhood story about a scarecrow and Ingrid’s grandma reveals his flirting habits started pretty young. That makes his face turn scarlet. “Did you really have to bring that up in front of the professor?!”

“She needs to know,” Ingrid states plainly.

“_Why_?”

“Because,” adds Felix.

“That’s not a good reason!”

Byleth looks to him. “This sounds serious. I didn’t know your flirtatious behavior was there even when you were a child. Now I’m concerned there’s a deeper rooted issue.”

“No, no issue! There’s no need to be concerned about me, Professor,” he insists. “_Anyway_, the city’s coming up, so let’s hurry and go somewhere. I’m starving.”

The topic is dropped as they look around for a nice restaurant. When they ask Byleth for her opinion on where to eat, she shrugs and says anywhere is fine. She rarely comes here to dine as the monastery’s food is enough for her.

They end up at a restaurant that’s right next to a quaint little bakery. It has an outdoor seating area in addition to the one inside. But they opt for outside, since it’ll just be hotter among all the people boxed in, and the trees will give them shade. A good spot for an eatery, is what Ingrid says, since they can have dessert right next door when they’re done with lunch.

The square table they get has five seats. Dimitri and Ingrid sit together, Felix at the smaller side by himself, and Sylvain takes the spot right next to Byleth. When they order, she gets the least expensive thing on the menu: lemon chicken with a side of sautéed vegetables. The others order one appetizer each along with their main course, like a huge plate of pasta with shrimps and scallops for Ingrid, a juicy steak for Felix, herb pork covered in melted cheese for Dimitri, and a seafood platter for Sylvain.

“That’s all you’re getting, Professor?” asks Ingrid once the waitress leaves them. “Not even something to drink?”

“I ordered water.”

“Why?” asks Felix.

Maybe sensing her hesitance on what to say, Sylvain jumps in with, “The professor likes the simple stuff. Right?”

“Oh. Yes, I do. My favorite food is actually tomato soup. I also like the small fish skewers and the fried crayfish back at the monastery.”

“Those last two things taste like air and fish piss,” Felix comments. “Why would you wanna eat that? There’s no need to punish yourself, Professor.”

“Felix, please,” Dimitri sighs. “I’m not too fond of them myself, but they’re not… the worst things one could eat.”

Byleth folds her napkin into a smaller square, smoothing it out in front of her on the table. “I like simplicity. Growing up as a mercenary, we didn’t have a lot of money. Or time to cook dishes like what we just ordered. Whatever we found or hunted is what we ate. Fish, birds, rodents, berries, mushrooms—things like that. Most of our income went to making sure everyone got paid fairly, and the repair of weapons or armor. It also went to buying things like feed and care items for the horses, vulneraries for us, and other medical supplies.”

She shrugs. “I ate whatever was given to me. If we didn’t have to spend money on food, then we wouldn’t. Especially when it could’ve been used instead to buy us a night or two at an inn during the winter months. Or when it rained for several days straight. Otherwise, we’d sleep outside and rotate who gets to use the tents and stuff.”

“Ah,” Ingrid looks down, twiddling her fingers, “forgive us, Professor. You must think we’re just throwing money away with how much food we ordered for ourselves. We… didn’t know that was your situation before.”

“Don’t apologize, Ingrid. You have the money, so you can afford it. I don’t, so I won’t spend more than is necessary.”

“Actually,” she starts, “my family isn’t very wealthy, despite us being nobles. We’re one of the poorest noble houses in Faerghus, if not _the_ poorest one. Our lands don’t yield many healthy crops, so it’s hard to grow food. Most of our money is spent trying to pay our small number of soldiers. Or buy food from elsewhere to feed the people we oversee.”

Dimitri frowns. “I can send more financial assistance to your house if you need it, Ingrid. At least when I take the throne. Or I can ask my Uncle Rufus to work something out with House Galatea since he’s the temporary head of the Kingdom.”

“Oh, no that’s not necessary, Your Highness! We’re getting by enough. Besides, I’ll have to pick a suitor soon anyway. Before I graduate. Things should get better after that.”

Byleth tilts her head slightly. “A suitor?”

Sylvain’s smile hasn’t been on his face ever since Ingrid started talking about her family. “Her father insists she marry to ensure their house’s future isn’t bleak. Because she’s the only one of her siblings that has a Crest.”

“I… don’t mind helping my family, Sylvain. It’s a duty befitting my station in life.”

“You reject every letter he writes to you about a different man of the week wanting your hand. You shouldn’t be obligated into an arranged marriage just because you’re the only one with a Crest. All your siblings will get more choice with their lives than you ever will, and that’s not fair. You want to be a knight; that’s your dream, and instead you’ll be forced to stay as a homebound noblewoman and produce heirs with Crests. It’s shitty no matter which way you look at it.”

Felix, for once, has no comment. He just sits there, crossing his arms. Dimitri is staring at the table with a frown and furrowed brow. Sylvain looks the slightest bit angry, but he sighs, and relaxes back into his seat. “Sorry, Ingrid. This isn’t what we should be talking about during our afternoon out. The whole thing just… sucks.”

“No, it’s okay Sylvain. I understand. Thanks anyway.” The smile she wears is very faint. “I appreciate you care about this.”

The food is served to them shortly after, and the topic of Ingrid’s suitors doesn’t come up again. As they eat, they talk about other things like their training, a book they recently read, or gossip around the monastery. They tell Byleth a few embarrassing childhood stories about each other, and the person being teased gets flustered (or in Felix’s case, angry). And when they get dessert at the bakery next door, they all offer to pay for Ingrid’s berry sorbet. She declines, but Dimitri goes ahead and gets her several scoops of it anyway.

So, this is what friends do. They tease each other, laugh together, share many meals. Reminisce fond memories, call each other out when they’re being stupid, support each other’s dreams, and defend each other from the unfair treatment of the world. This is friendship.

_I don’t have any of this with Claude. Or anyone at all. I really… don’t have any friends…._

“Hey, you alright, Professor?” asks Sylvain.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she lies, taking another spoonful of her orange sorbet. “Just hot out. The sun’s comforting, so it makes me a little sleepy.”

“Wanna head back? We spent a lot of time down here anyway. And we should start preparing for our trip tomorrow. Gotta get enough rest so we’re alert on the road.”

“That’s true. But I wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with your friends. I can go back on my own.”

He looks over to where Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid are lounging underneath a tree. They’re keeping watch on their horses who are also resting underneath the shade. Those creatures must be thirsty. Maybe they should head back. Horses need just as much rest as people.

“Honestly, it’s fine. Did you learn anything today at least?”

“You’re a sweet talker, but you’re actually just a big goof, according to your friends.”

Sylvain laughs. “Well I can be many things at once, y’know! But that makes me more charming, doesn’t it?” he asks with a smirk and a wink.

“I guess.”

Pointing at her, he says with a wide grin, “You can’t take it back now, Professor! You said I was charming, and I’m going to cherish that fact for the rest of my life.”

“No, that’s not what I said.”

Why does this situation seem familiar? Ah, right. Claude thinking he’s her favorite student. (He’s not.) Sylvain does act a little like Claude though, now that she thinks about it. With a glaring contrast of him being promiscuous and angering women because of it.

“Hey, hey!” he chirps, walking over to the others. “You heard that? The professor said I was charming.”

“He’s lying,” she immediately replies, joining them. “What I really said was he tries to be a ladies man, but he’s actually just a dork. That’s what I learned today from seeing him with you three.”

“People can still be whores even if they’re idiots,” Felix states. “That’s Sylvain. A dork who also happens to be a slut.”

“Idiots and dorks aren’t the same thing,” corrects Dimitri. “And please, Felix. You can at least use a less crude term to describe his… skirt-chasing.”

“I’ll stop calling him a whorish slut once he actually stops being one.”

“Man, what happened Felix?” Sylvain whines. “You used to be sooo cute and sweet when we were kids. Like an adorable baby brother. Now you pick on me all the time! And I’m older than you—by two years!” He holds up two fingers. “_Two_!”

“Which means you should be more mature, yet you’re not. Age means nothing.”

Sylvain pouts and complains some more, and Ingrid groans, rubbing her temple with her fingers. “We should head back to the monastery. The professor needs her rest after all. Tomorrow is the mission for her class, which includes you two, so let’s get going.”

No one argues, and soon they’re back on their horses and up the trail to Garreg Mach. Along the way, Dimitri says to Byleth, “I enjoyed our time together, Professor. With my friends, and with you. I know you’re an instructor, but, it wasn’t hard to imagine you as just another fellow student either, had things been different.”

“You should’ve picked our house,” Felix says, without turning to her. “Then I wouldn’t of had to transfer. You’re diligent, and students see results in their academia and combat training. Besides,” he gives a quick side-eye to Dimitri, “at least the boar is a competent house leader.” Dimitri only gets to smile briefly before Felix quickly continues, “Edelgard would’ve been a more reasonable pick too. She takes things seriously. Claude goofs off too much. And smiles too much. The hell is he always smiling for?”

“What Felix means,” Ingrid cuts in, “is that Claude is… lacking, in many ways. He’s from House Riegan, the most revered house in the Leicester Alliance, yet he’s one of the least noble people I’ve ever met, and I’ve known Sylvain _and_ Felix for a long time.”

Before either of them can make a comment, she adds, “I apologize for being so blunt, Professor. But he’s lazy; I caught him napping on the bench seat in the reception hall a few days ago. Too nonchalant, and I’ve met common folk more refined than him.”

“Hey c’mon you two,” Sylvain starts. “Don’t say those things. Is it that bad Claude’s not as princely as His Highness? Or as regal as Edelgard?”

“I don’t give a shit if he’s not princely or noble,” Felix starts. “He doesn’t take things seriously; that’s the problem. As someone who’s to inherit an entire nation, he needs to start acting like he gives a damn about being in charge of countless lives. He’s never going to be an effective leader otherwise.”

“Every leader has their own method of guiding the people,” Dimitri defends. “Claude could perhaps be more serious about his future and cease some of his more silly antics, but perhaps that is his way of connecting with those under his watch who aren’t of the nobility.”

“You and Edelgard are still more understanding of the weight your positions carry. Ingrid and I aren’t the only ones who think that either.”

“Alright,” Byleth says sharply, staring at the saddle horn, “that’s enough.”

She didn’t raise her voice, but the four of them immediately fall silent regardless. They wait for her to speak, but she takes a moment to calm herself. Looking at them all, she says, “Claude isn’t like Edelgard or Dimitri; that’s true. Or many of the other nobles. I hear that a lot from students, both out of and within his own house. Lorenz makes sure to constantly remind me he’s not fit to be leader and tries to usurp his authority whenever it’s not dire.”

Her grip tightens on the horse’s reins. “At one point, I thought it’d be nice to guide a class of the Blue Lions. I still think that even right this moment. But I picked the Golden Deer, and I don’t regret my choice. I can’t tell you why I picked them, because I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’ve grown very fond of my class, even those students who transferred in from other houses.”

Byleth looks to Felix, her expression neutral. “If you want to continue training under my instruction, or ever have the chance to spar against the Sword of the Creator, you won’t talk about Claude like that again. Whether you like it or not, he’s your new house leader. The least you can do is not talk shit about him when I’m right here in front of you.”

Then she looks to Ingrid. “And though you’re not on my roster, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak badly of Claude either. Is that understood?”

Felix huffs, and mumbles a ‘fine, whatever’. Ingrid hangs her head in shame. “I’m really sorry, Professor. You’re right. I don’t care much for the noble fineries or all that stuff myself, but—,” she shakes her head, “no, no you’re right. I won’t say things like that about him again. My deepest apologies.”

“Thank you. Apology accepted,” is all she says before she falls silent again.

The rest of the ride over is quiet, until Dimitri brings up the random topic of Faerghus weather not being that warm. That even the summers are a little cool. Sylvain agrees, saying he wishes he could just walk around without a shirt. Felix rolls his eyes at this, and Ingrid says how inappropriate it would be if that happened.

When they get back to the stables, Dimitri and Ingrid are the first to leave. They reiterate to Byleth that they enjoyed their afternoon out. Felix just shrugs before leaving his horse and says he’s going to put his things together for the mission’s journey.

Sylvain stays with her, checking up on his own horse he’s going to take. He recently passed his cavalier exam at the end of last month along with Leonie and Lorenz, so Byleth is sure he’ll be fine.

The horse is a mare with a shiny black coat. He gently strokes her snout and she huffs at him, flicking her tail. “We’re gonna have a long mission ahead of us this week, girl. Wish your hair was at least dark brown. Then you wouldn’t be as hot out in the sun. But you’ll do fine, right?”

She gives a snort, and he smiles. “‘Course you will. Look at these muscles,” he compliments, lightly patting her side. “You’re the strongest, prettiest horse in the stables, Nyx.”

“Are you flirting with horses now? Did you run out of human women to woo?”

Sylvain laughs. “No, Professor. But I mean, if I _was_ a male horse, I wouldn’t mind trying to court her.” Byleth gives him a look, and he immediately says, “I was joking! _Obviously_! I’m not a horse fucker. I _do_ have standards, believe it or not. And I hope people aren’t actually fucking horses either.”

He makes a face. “Like, fine, okay. I’ll admit my libido is _a little_ more active, more often, compared to most other people. But not _that_ extreme.”

Byleth hums as she strokes Nyx’s snout. “I was kidding, Sylvain. I know you’re not that desperate.”

“Good. I think. Anyway, sorry about… what happened earlier. When they were talking about Claude.” He scratches his head. “I’m kinda surprised the three of them were as… uh, civil like you saw today. It’s hard for me to get us all to hang out in peace. But I think them trying not to dig up negative, personal memories that happened in the past in front of you sorta… redirected itself into taking shots at Claude.”

_Ah, so even without telling them I was trying to learn about friendship, they still weren’t truly themselves together._

“Not an excuse, of course,” adds Sylvain, “but I feel like that’s what happened. On their behalf, I really am sorry, Professor.”

She doesn’t want to say it’s fine, because it’s not. And a part of her wants to find Claude now and just… what? Maybe sit next to him as he reads. Or fish with him at the pond. Maybe she still wants to be his friend, even if the feeling’s not mutual. Is it possible to have one-sided friendships? Or does that defeat the purpose of friendship in the first place?

Maybe that’s what this is. Even if he doesn’t feel the same, she can still be a friend to him. Perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t know it’s friendship that she’s still trying for, instead of being just ‘partners’. That’s possible. Moderate friendship. Yes, yes that’s what she’s going to do. And then she’ll learn, even if the gesture isn’t returned.

Then maybe, one day, when the forces that be decide she’s worked hard enough at trying to be a good friend, she’ll deserve one who feels the same.

“Thank you for defending him,” is what she says instead. “I dislike it when people talk about Claude like that. Or any of the others in our class. They don’t know what they’re truly like, so it upsets me when people make assumptions about my students.”

“Well, I actually like Claude. He’s not always scolding me about everything like His Highness. Or nags me about every little thing like Ingrid. Or bullies me like Felix. I mean, Claude pokes fun at me now and again, but it makes me feel like one of the Deer. He does that with all of us, even you sometimes. It’s comfortable, if that makes sense.”

_Comfortable. Is that why I picked his house?_

“Yeah, it makes sense. Thank you again, Sylvain. And aside from what happened earlier, I did learn more about what it’s like to be a friend. Friendships aren’t perfect, but the important thing is the strength of the bonds it creates. Maybe one day, I’ll find that too.”

“I don’t doubt that you will, Professor. And like I said before, you can start with me! Whenever and wherever, feel free to chat with me. I enjoy spending time with you.”

Byleth nods. “Okay, thank you. I’ll do that then.”

Sylvain gives her a smile, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Y’know, friends also give each other hugs. How about we start with that? Physical reassurances are also an important part of friendships. Like a pat on the shoulder, or a comforting pat on the hand. But hugs are the best.”

Opening his arms, he says, “Sooo? How about it, Professor? A way to cement the official start of our friendship.”

Well, he’s already held her close that one time. This would just be the same thing, except in full. So she embraces him, a bit awkwardly, and he’s quick to hug her tight. She pats his back. “Like this?”

“I can tell you haven’t hugged before,” he says lightly, voice close to her ear. “We’re gonna have to fix that.”

He doesn’t let her go for several moments. It’s a little awkward just standing here, especially with him bent the way he is. Maybe she should wear taller heels next time he hugs her. When he finally does let go, it’s hesitant. As he pulls away, he smiles down at her, his hands resting at the small of her back for a brief moment.

“See you tomorrow, Professor,” he says, finally putting distance between them to walk away.

She wonders what that was about, but decides it’s not important to ponder on. There’s a lot to double-check, and she needs to go to the cathedral to talk with one of the nuns who’s in charge of a white magic battalion.

The route she takes to it has her passing by the cemetery. When she briefly glances at the plot where Sitri rests, she notices a figure standing there. They’re wearing black robes with light red trimming and accents. The ensemble is styled very similar to that of the priests’ garments.

Curious, she walks down there to find the person—a man—lay a bouquet of flowers at the foot of Sitri’s grave. He notices her, and stares wide-eyed. Then he blinks himself out of his surprise, and gives her a soft smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to gawk,” he apologizes. “You just look so much like… someone I used to know.”

“That’s okay. I was just curious who was visiting my mother’s grave.”

The man stares at her in brief surprise again before he’s smiling wide. “Ah, so you’re Byleth, Jeralt and Sitri’s child. I’ve heard about you.”

“Did you know them?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Enough that I know these were Sitri’s favorite flowers. I’m sorry again. Where are my manners?” He puts a hand to his chest. “My name is Aelfric Dahlman. I’m a monk here at the monastery.”

That explains the robes. He has a kind face. Dark brown eyes, and longish dark brown hair that reaches just beyond the nape of his neck. Average height for a man, she thinks.

“Aelfric,” she repeats with a nod. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I would love to chat more, but I’m afraid I have some business to attend to. Please do excuse me. Though I have a feeling we’ll meet again soon, Byleth.”

He gives her another smile before he walks away. She looks at the bouquet of flowers left in front of the tombstone. Fresh, and wrapped in an elegant piece of cloth.

_That man was a friend of my parents’, huh?_

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Well, it’s been several days.

Several days since Claude came back from the roundtable conference. Several days since his surprise birthday celebration, and several days since he got to hang around Byleth for things that _aren’t_ academics or battle plans. Well, ‘hang out’ isn’t exactly the right term to call that, is it?

Very obvious that his plan of getting her to think he’s her friend isn’t working. Because she’s now convinced he doesn’t want to be. And giving him _a lot_ of space. A professional distance, one that would be expected between teacher and student.

She hasn’t even mentioned to him about how the tomato plant is growing in the magic-infused horseshit. The one time he asked, she said it was fine. Sitting there on her windowsill. Didn’t even tell him if it’s sprouted yet. (It’s probably dead in reality, and she just doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. He’d also rather not know if that’s true.)

But she wears that heart necklace every day now. The one Sylvain ‘gifted’ her.

Except when training. Which is reasonable. Claude shouldn’t think anything of it. Obviously, she’d like any gift her students give her. But he was so sure she didn’t care about jewelry or other ‘traditional’ things girls like. Did she change her mind? Is she just being considerate of Sylvain’s feelings?

At this rate, she’ll find an unlikely friend in the son of Gautier. Or at least, she’ll think that. Claude isn’t stupid, and he knows the game Sylvain is trying to play. Probably in poor form to think that way of a classmate, but the redhead’s blatant attraction to their professor isn’t a secret.

Claude expected Byleth to at least realize what’s truly going on, though. Maybe he should tell her. Yeah, yeah he should. Partners look out for each other. And since that’s what she thinks of their own relationship, it’s only right he tell her about his suspicions.

“—ind everything okay, Claude?”

“Hmm?” He blinks at Tomas. “Ah. Yeah, just returning some books I borrowed.” He sets them in one of the library carts. “I’m gonna check out some new ones to read on our trip, so I wanted to put these back first.”

“Of course.” Tomas begins to organize them. “You read so much, young man. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone check out this many books at one time. So many different topics too. History, cooking, the flora and fauna of Fódlan, myths and fables, architecture, poetry, a fiction novel or two—the list keeps growing.”

“Well I’m of a curious mind, and I like to dabble in a wide variety of knowledge.”

“I’m happy to hear someone your age is so eager to learn anything he can.”

Claude goes to his browsing after that, picking out books from different shelves. He isn’t really looking for anything specific. Just whatever title happens to catch his eye. One about Adrestian herbs, another on Faerghus folktales, and a third is a collection of poems written by authors from the Leicester Alliance. There’s also an interesting book on the precious stones found in Fódlan. Maybe he’ll take a look at this one too, just in case he happens to come across any on the trip.

“Yeah, he’s always in here, huh?” he hears someone whisper.

“I mean, he’s kinda cute, but I can’t trust him as far as I can throw him,” replies another.

“Same here. There’s something about that smile that makes me think he’ll trick me into giving him my life’s savings….”

Nearby, a table of students have been staring at him for the past three minutes. He’d make some joke to them about drawing a picture so it’ll last longer. But he’s been through this circus enough times to know how their conversation will go. And so he moves away, pretending like he never heard them in the first place. It’s all repetitive garbage anyway.

Vague whispers about how odd it is that they still don’t know why he appeared out of the blue. How he looks nothing like Tiana (and a mention of his skin tone is thrown in there for good measure, because why not?). Wondering what exactly happened to his Uncle Godfrey and how suspicious it is that he appeared so soon after the man’s unexpected death…

_They’re really trying to pin me for murder now, huh? Guess all those slurs spoken just a bit too loudly when I’m near wasn’t enough to rile me up. That’s what they want, isn’t it?_

He takes his little stack of books and has Tomas check them out. Not like he can carry too heavy of a load during their journey, anyway. That, and there’s a limit to how many—and what kind of—books are allowed to be rented for reading outside of monastery grounds.

Plus, he doesn’t need to stay to hear what the other students think about him.

While it’s a bother to carry so many books in his arms, he makes a quick trip to the cathedral before heading back to his dorm. A few days ago, he had sent a message to the counselor’s box about the… well, he’ll be generous and call them gossipers. Whispers about him have become more frequent over the past few weeks, and he still has yet to figure out why.

Maybe him going to the Alliance Roundtable Conference put ideas into their heads that he’s just waiting for his grandfather to keel over so he can take control of the country. (Sounds straight out of a political fiction novel; maybe they should take a walk outside every once in a while to re-immerse themselves in reality.)

The nun in charge of the box only gives him a gentle smile and polite nod. He’s thankful she doesn’t pry, or looks over to see which message he’ll take. Claude is a little surprised when he sees his own message neatly folded up in the answered box. He quickly stows it away in his pocket, not wanting to read it where others can see, and promptly leaves.

As he’s making his way through the ground floor hallway of the faculty building, he has to ask a group of guys to (politely) move out of the way if he wants the shortest route to the dorms. His arms really are getting tired of carrying his favorite pastime.

“Mind if I shimmy on through, fellas?” he asks.

“Oh, it’s you Riegan,” one of the boys says. “And another haul of books.”

“Surprised you haven’t swiped any for your own personal library,” another one says. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you did, y’know, all things considered.”

He doesn’t humor him with a response to that specific comment. “Reading’s good for the ol’ noggin.”

A third boy behind the second whispers something like, “Yeah, he kinda does look Almyran, doesn’t he? Wonder if him and that errand boy Cyril are distantly related.”

Wow.

_People around here really don’t know what ‘whisper’ means, huh…._

“Look,” he says, already starting to slowly walk backward, “no big deal. I just wanted to get through this—”

“Oh, of course, _Duke_ Riegan. Please,” the tallest boy says, making a sweeping hand gesture to the open doorway, “be my guest.”

“Thanks. Really appreciate it.”

And he’s nearly tripped as he passes through. Something he should’ve anticipated, so really, it’s his fault. Again. Even though he’s here in the monastery surrounded by people who would rather pick flowers than pick a poison, he can’t be too careful. So, shame on him for letting his guard drop like that.

He saves himself the fumble just in time, staggering back up straight before his face meets the ground. But a few of his books do tumble along the way. He inwardly sighs, and starts to pick them up. Anyone nearby who’s watching doesn’t bother to help. They just give a quick glance and go about their business. Makes sense.

Expected.

The last book he can’t get to because just as he’s about to pick it up, one of the boys puts his boot on it. Claude stares down at the black leather, and says, “Mind stepping back just a tad?”

“Yeah, I kinda do mind. Normal kids don’t read this much.” He picks up the book, and gives a quick flip through it. “Alliance poetry? Seriously? You’re a nerd through and through, aren’t you? Wanna impress someone, or what?”

“You can keep it if it’s that interesting to you,” he says with a shrug. “It shouldn’t be too hard for someone with your lower than average reading level.”

“_What_?”

“Trying to be smartass?” another one says, glaring at him.

“No,” he says, fluidly slipping around them all and plucking the book out of the boy’s hand before he can even react. “Just being factual.”

And he figures he’s not being chased this time because the guys are then distracted by their girlfriends, or dates, or whoever that goes to meet them with giggles and waves as they talk about not wanting to miss dinner.

He holds back a sigh of relief when he finally makes it to his dorm some moments later. (Claude also makes a point to lock his door immediately.) In this cushioned box, he can’t hear the things other people say. He can’t see the looks they give him. But he’s endured worse than gossips and verbal harassment.

This is fine.

As he takes off his blazer, the counselor message falls out of his pocket. Ah, right. He was going to read this. He sits on the edge of his bed, and unfolds the parchment. The response isn’t very long.

> _The people who make those unnecessary comments about you are ignorant. Your individualism is what makes some others want to get to know you better. To want to be your friend. Any unsavory gossip about you is all noise. One day, those ignorant people will no longer matter. I don’t know your situation, but it won’t stay like this forever. Just follow your own path and don’t worry about folks like that. You’ll find different people who will walk beside you on that road, happily, step by step. _

He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, and he doesn’t know why, but after the first sentence, he can imagine Byleth saying this. A veil of calm drapes over him as he reads it over and over, hearing her beside him, staring into his eyes as she assures him things will change.

But that’s not possible; she can’t be the one answering these. She wouldn’t waste her time at the counselor’s box when she’s so busy. Maybe.

Something to look into later.

He lights the message on fire at the counter and throws away the ashes. No need for anyone to find this lying about. It’s also a great distraction from adding a comforting hand-hold into his imaginary conversation with Byleth. Because he doesn’t need her to hold his hand. He’s not 5 years old. And yeah, sure, her hands are soft, and warm, and slip easily into his.

But her hands are small anyway. They’d fit into anyone’s hands bigger than hers. He wonders how much bigger his hands are in comparison; another thing to find out some day.

When dinner comes around, he plans to just eat his food alone while staring at the fishing pond outside. But then through one of the open doors, he spots a casually dressed Byleth by herself under one of the large gazebos in the gardens. She has her dinner with her at a table, looking over some documents. He’s surprised Sylvain isn’t anywhere to be found. Though she’s alone now, so maybe, he can finally talk to her. Ask how her day went. Go over the mission check-list. He just wants to hear her voice.

(And wow, okay. He’s not sure where that came from.)

“Heya, Teach!” he greets, standing in front of her. “Mind if I sit here?”

She looks up at him with her sapphire—no, no they’re just blue eyes, not _sapphire_—and nods. “Sure.” Byleth stacks the papers together neatly and puts them away in her satchel to make room for his tray. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Aww,” he teases, sitting down and setting his food in front of him, “miss me after being so busy? I can understand. We’ve hardly had time to just chat! Y’know, as partners.” He figures this is a better angle than trying to get her to be his friend. Start again from square one.

Earn back that trust he foolishly let slip between his fingers.

Humming with a shrug of her shoulder, she says, “Guess it’s weird not hearing your voice so often.”

He chuckles. “You like how it sounds?”

“Yeah,” she replies plainly, going back to her meal.

Claude can’t speak for a few seconds. How is it fair that she just says _whatever_, without even realizing the weight of her words? Giving compliments she doesn’t even know are compliments and just being so damn honest and sincere?

What’s even worse is that he can feel the tips of his ears starting to burn. And why does it always happen with her? He’s never been so caught off-guard with anyone until Byleth.

_I like how your voice sounds, too._

He puts on his best smile, trying to shake away that thought.

She’s eating pheasant roast with berry sauce. The first food she ended up liking other than some variation of soup. The dish he first shared with her. Has she been getting this a lot more often?

“We match today,” he says, gesturing to their plates. “Told you it was tasty, huh? One of my favorite dishes. I tend to like poultry and other meats more than things like beef or pork. But, I’m also partial to lamb.”

There’s no harm in telling her that.

“Lamb is good,” she replies. “Very tender met. Poultry is great too. When I was a mercenary, we used to hunt pheasant while on the road. Sometimes deer.”

Claude gives a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “Teach, how could you? Cute little deer? Really?”

She shrugs again. “If it makes you feel better, I never craved deer. We only hunted the bucks; never the doe or the fawns. And after being your instructor for this long, I don’t think I want to eat them ever again.”

He’s about to tell her it doesn’t bother him. You eat what’s available. Make the most of what the land has graciously offered. But before he can even get the words out, the whispers start up again. And even having Byleth near doesn’t let him just ignore it as noise.

Some tables down, more students are trying (and failing) to discreetly eavesdrop on their conversation. A guy joins them and sits down next to his friends after getting a plate of desserts.

“Man, ever since she decided to teach his class, he’s been sucking up to her like crazy. I almost never see them without the other. You think he’s manipulating her?”

And he can’t exactly say that’s untrue. But it also stings, when it never used to before. He wonders when that started to change.

“Trying to get good marks, probably,” the second says. “He’s kinda lazy. I always see him goofing off or wandering around. But the professor doesn’t seem like she’d fall for his schemes.”

“You don’t think that…,” and there’s a small gasp from the third student at some asinine realization, he finds out, two seconds later, “he’s trying to seduce her, do you?”

“What? No! …But, well, you think? Would she really sleep with someone like him? That’s pretty scandalous. Although I can see Sylvain trying that….”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t blame Riegan if he did. I’d be surprised if he_ hasn’t_ hit that yet. I sure would if I was in his place.”

“Hey, shut up!” the first one scolds in a harsh whisper, and the other two clamp a hand over their mouths. “You guys are being loud! They’re _right_ there!”

Byleth stands, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the tiles. The gossiping students visibly shrink like shriveled prunes. Their heads quickly snap back to their plates as they start talking about something else.

“Excuse me for a minute,” she tells Claude.

“Teach, it’s fine!” He shoos a hand at her, putting on his best carefree smile. “Just ignore them, like I do.” He cuts a part of his pheasant, and casually waves around his fork with a piece of meat at the end. “Who cares what they say, honestly? Let’s just enjoy our scrumptious dinner and—”

“_I care_ what they say, Claude.” She meets his eyes, unblinking. There’s a burning intensity in there, and the slightest crease of her brow. She almost looks angry. “Not about me. But I won’t let anyone talk about _you_ like that. It makes me very upset. And I’ve had enough of it for one day. They don’t know you. What makes them think they can just say stuff like that?”

“I…”

“Just sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

She’s… upset when people talk shit about him? Since when? His ears feel hot again as he thinks back to the message from earlier.

_‘You’ll find different people who will walk beside you on that road, happily, step by step.’_

Can that really be true?

The group of students hang their heads when Byleth finally confronts them. She’s not loud enough to hear, but her brows furrow in discontent. Byleth stares them down until they get up and actually walk over to him, uttering quick apologies without meeting his eyes. Then they pick up their trays and leave.

“I got their names,” she says, returning to her spot across from him at their own table. “I’m going to speak with their professors later. Claude? Are you okay? Your cheeks are pink.”

“My—oh, y-yeah I’m fine!” He didn’t even notice. Gods, why does her sincerity embarrass him so much? “You know how the summer evenings get. All the heat just settles down here on the ground. That’s probably it.”

“Well, okay, if you’re sure. But if something’s wrong, please tell me. I want to help.”

“Can do, Teach. Let’s finish our food before it gets cold.”

And he sits there, listening to Byleth go over the mission details with him. Answering when she asks for his opinions. Only speaking when he has to. Right now, he just wants to hear her voice as much as he can.

_I wonder.... If I asked you to walk in step with me on this path, would you do it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy May! Let's pray it's better than April. I sure hope so, since it's my birthday month. 😅
> 
> I'm still not satisfied with how this chapter turned out. I don't think I quite got down the relationship of the childhood quartet, but, well I'll let you folks tell me how I did in the comments, ha ha. The things said about Claude were based on Felix's overall blunt attitude and Ingrid & Claude's support chain. So, I'm not just picking on them just because. And yes, Aelfric finally makes an appearance, albeit brief. We really are drawing ever closer to the Cindered Shadows side-story....
> 
> This chapter was inspired by two things: one of Claude's confession box messages (which I expanded), and [this](https://twitter.com/JWhitnee/status/1190757292259659777?s=19) fancomic. I gave this scenario my own take on it though, for the most part, since I don't like using this kind of fancontent as inspiration for fics. Since, well, I consider them to just be fics with pictures. LOL So I try not to become inspired too often by other people's ideas for my own work since I feel like it's... cheating? I dunno how to describe it, but yeah.
> 
> So I added a new tag to this work, the Sylvain/Byleth one. But I put "minor" ahead of it for a reason. As much as I love Sylveth, Claudeleth is my OTP, so no worries, folks! (But I've got a Sylveth fic brainstorming already, hee hee.)
> 
> Next week I'm not going to update since I need to focus on finals. I almost wasn't going to update this week either, but I didn't want to leave you all with a two-week hiatus. So, I hope this new installment can hold you all over until May 15th!
> 
> And hey, this story has passed the 500 kudos mark! Thank you soooooo much! It really means a lot to me, and makes me super happy! I'm very glad so many people are enjoying this fanfic! I'll keep doing my best to continue giving you folks quality chapters! 😭💖
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	30. XXX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth spends the afternoon with Sylvain and his childhood friends. They have lunch in the town, and she gets to witness their bond firsthand. Most of it is positive. Though Ingrid bringing up her suitor situation makes Sylvain upset, not finding it fair that she'll be in an arranged marriage once she graduates. But they soon move on from the topic. Although the next one is about how Ingrid and Felix don't think Claude is a competent house leader. Byleth gets frustrated, and when she voices her displeasure, the subject is immediately changed. Back at the monastery, she meets Aelfric, a monk who is visiting her mother's grave. But he leaves soon after before she can speak more with him. Meanwhile, Claude endures his daily verbal harassment from people who consider him an outsider. He manages to eat dinner with Byleth later, which uplifts his mood, until more "gossipers" get chatty nearby. Byleth confronts them, to his surprise, as it upsets her when people talk badly about him. It leaves him in awe, and a little embarrassed. Hopeful too, that one day, things will change for the better.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXX ⧽  
  
Tower of Black Winds

** _16th of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1180 ━_ **

They got a head start on their trip early Monday morning. In addition to her class of 15, Byleth was allowed to bring Jeralt’s mercenaries, and two additional battalions for Claude and Lysithea to command. They also brought along a smaller battalion of healers. Marianne won’t really have to command them; they know what to do should things get sticky.

Gilbert Pronislav, one of the Knights of Seiros, and his own battalion were tasked with guiding them on this assignment. He’s a middle aged man with blue eyes and hair tied back neatly in a thin ponytail. Some streaks of silver entwine themselves with his ginger locks. When she first met him, Byleth could’ve sworn she’d seen him before. Or perhaps, someone like him.

So far, this is the longest trip they’ve been on; including Monday and today, that’s 5 days en route to their mission. Conand Tower is along the border of the Galatea and Fraldarius territories in the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. While it is still summer in Fódlan, it’s a lot cooler up north, and so the days aren’t as weary in the sunlight. A few times there’s a light drizzle of rain, but Gilbert suggests they not stop or take detours unless there’s a downpour.

As not all of her students are accustomed to such long trips, she lets each of them rest or sleep in one of the caravans they were allotted for the journey. A few prefer horseback, like Leonie, Sylvain, and Lorenz, so they’re usually the only ones out and about. Save for Raphael who wants to get as much training as he can, and so walks alongside the caravan, talking to Ignatz, or running up to Leonie.

Claude only lounges in the caravan for short periods of time. Apparently he gets bored easily, so he’ll hop out to walk with his infantry battalion and mingle with them. But most of the time, he’ll be right beside Byleth.

He’s been doing that a lot these past few days. Being in close proximity to her. While she doesn’t mind, it’s a little strange that he wants to be walking this much. Even on the days she has her students do supplemental training exercises while on the move. He’ll nap for a while afterward in the caravan, but otherwise, he’ll be right back beside her, pointing out the scenery or playing idle games to pass the time.

“I spy with my little eye,” he starts, glancing around as they walk, “something green.”

“It’s a tree,” Byleth says, plainly. “We’ve already done that one.”

“But _which_ tree?”

Sylvain rides up beside them on his steed, Nyx. “Hate to cut in, but, I found something interesting.” In the hand not holding the reins, he has a white flower. Presenting it to Byleth, he says, “For you, milady.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she replies, staring at it. “But I’m not sure where to put this.”

He stops his horse and Byleth halts too. Sylvain tucks the flower behind her ear, securing it between her locks of hair. He smiles and winks at her. “A lovely flower, for a lovely lady.”

Claude looks at the bloom, giving it some consideration. “Y’know this a poisonous flower, right? It causes severe itching and leaves rashes for days.”

“What?!” Sylvain quickly plucks it out from Byleth’s hair and drops it on the ground. “Professor, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t—”

“Ooooh, wait.” Claude squints at it, rubbing at his chin. The flower now lays helplessly on the path, covered in dirt. “This one’s harmless. I was confusing it for one that looks similar to it, except the petals have a tapered point at the end. My bad!”

He grins at Sylvain, not at all sounding apologetic. The redhead narrows his eyes at him. Byleth must be missing something here, because she feels like they’re having a conversation that’s going over her head.

“If you two are done fooling around and bothering the professor,” Lorenz says, trotting up to them, “please keep up with the party. It wouldn’t bode well for anyone to lag behind.”

“Lorenz is right,” Byleth says, picking up her pace. The others follow. “We need to cover as much ground as we can while the sun is still high in the sky. Thankfully, we get more daylight in the summer, so we should be arriving to Conand Tower soon.”

“How much longer is it going to take, Professor?” whines Hilda from the caravan. “My behind is getting sore from staying in here for so long.”

“You _could_ get out and walk, y’know,” Claude suggests. “Breathe in some fresh air and smell the roses.”

“And dirty my new boots?” She sticks her leg out, showing the heart-shaped buckle on the side. “No, I don’t think so.”

Byleth looks up to the sky. It’s a very light gray, so the sunset is blurred by the sheet of clouds. It might rain again. “Gilbert,” she says loudly so he can hear her from up front, “how much more time do you think it’ll take us to reach Conand Tower?”

“If we keep at this pace,” the man starts, “we should arrive there by tomorrow afternoon. Although we can afford to make camp here, and start dinner. I see you’ve noticed the sky as well, Professor. Best to have everything set up now in case we’re faced with rain yet again.”

When they reach a clearing a few feet away, the caravans are stopped and organized in a circle. Tent supplies are brought out, and the students stretch from another long day of travel.

“Can someone wake up Linhardt?” asks Byleth, knowing very well he’s still napping on top of rice sacks and spare blankets inside the caravan. “At least before dinner starts?”

“HEY LINHARDT!” yells Raphael. The sleepy mage shouts, and although Byleth can’t see him, she’s sure he looks at least mildly inconvenienced. “We’ve stopped for camp again! Time to get out, buddy!” He doesn’t wait for the other to dismount, and instead pulls him out of the caravan, holding him in his arms. Linhardt looks like a string bean in comparison to Raphael’s massive form.

“Thanks… Raphael…,” he says, looking the slightest bit annoyed as he side-eyes him. Linhardt yawns and—despite his apparent irritation—doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to be put down. He kind of just curls into Raphael’s chest. “I would have never woken up without you to alarm me.”

“That’s what I’m here for! We’re gonna start dinner, and I didn’t want you to miss out!”

“While I appreciate it, maybe don’t yell so loud like that next time? For all we know, bandits could be nearby and now we’ve just alerted them to our presence.”

Raphael’s expression falls. “Oh no. You’re right. Oh man, I’m sorry. But we can take care of them if they do find us! No problem.”

“Th-There’s bandits nearby?” Bernadetta stays huddled in the caravan. “Uh, I-I’ll mind my own business h-here, if that’s okay with… e-everyone….”

“We’re not getting ambushed,” Byleth assures. “This area has already been scouted by the Knights of Seiros, but this is why we have night watch patrols regardless. Now, go set up your tents, everyone. My father’s mercenaries volunteered to fetch our dinner for today, so you can relax. Tomorrow is our battle, and I want everyone well-rested.”

“You’re not going to set up your own spot, Professor?” asks Ashe as she starts to walk away.

“No. As long as it doesn’t rain, I’ll just sleep outside. But that’s my choice. I’d rather you all take the tents; we didn’t bring enough for everyone.”

“But then where are you going?” Leonie asks.

She pauses for a moment. “I need to… urinate,” she lies. “So I’m going to go and find a spot for some privacy. I’ll be back in a while. Excuse me.”

Felix questions how long could it possibly take for her to piss, but she ignores him as she steps into the woods. She zigzags through the trees and the bushes, hoping that none of her students follow her.

_Urinate? That’s the best excuse you could come up with?_

_If I told them I was going to train with the Sword of the Creator, they’d all want to watch. I want to test out its whip capabilities, and I can’t do that if they’re close by._

_You could have just threatened them with a fail for this month’s assignment._

_Well then they can just assume I’m peeing a lot. Or had to take an additional dump._

_That is not something I want to imagine! Byleth, you can be rather disgusting at times. Do you know that?_

_I mean, people have to pee and poop. It’s a natural function of the human body and most living organisms. Sure it’s gross, but people need to accept it’s a thing that happens._

_Ugh…._

When she finds a clearing, Byleth glances around just to make sure no one is nearby. She won’t be out here for too long. At least until the hunting party returns. And there’s still enough sunlight in the sky for her to practice. Once it starts getting too dark, she’ll head back.

She unwraps the sword and stares at it. Takes a couple of practice swings. It’s heavier than any other sword she’s handled before. But not in the same way as iron or steel. She’s not even sure how to explain it to herself.

In rapid succession, Byleth lunges forward, slicing through the air. The sword doesn’t glow, but she can feel it pulsating again. Faster this time.

_What do you think that pulsating means, Sothis? …Sothis?_

Oh, she must’ve fallen asleep again. She did mention she took a very long nap shortly after Byleth acquired the sword. Is this going to happen every time she uses it?

_Now, how can I use the whip?_ _Maybe, if I just will it to act that way, it might_. She concentrates on a point at a nearby tree. On one of the lower, shorter branches. Byleth takes a deep breath, holding firm onto the sword’s hilt, and flicks it forward.

All at once, the blade extends into several individual pieces as it flies through the air. The tip of the blade lands clumsily next to the branch she had been aiming at, and pounds a deep dent into the bark. It’s dangerous, just like she thought. And it has a long reach. Some of the blade looked like it was still bunched up.

She tries aiming at a farther tree, repeating the same motions. The whip cuts through the bark again, but doesn’t cause it to fall over. Not all of the pieces are stretched out, so she can probably flick it farther still.

Byleth focuses on a tree further behind the second, and throws her arm back, then forward as the whip goes sailing.

“Watcha doing there, Teach?”

She jolts and yanks back the whip as it flies toward her. The point, specifically. She twirls around to avoid its trajectory and it lodges itself firmly into the trunk of a tree behind her.

And just an inch away from Claude’s ear.

He laughs nervously, staring at the blade. “Kinda cutting it close there, aren’t you? Almost sliced through my handsome face!”

Byleth retracts the blade with another flick, and it clambers neatly into its stable form once again. “_What_ are you doing here, Claude?” Before he can even open his mouth to reply, she adds, “I told you I was going to relieve myself. And yet you followed me here.”

“But that’s _not_ what you were doing.”

“Are you saying you would’ve watched me pee if I was? Didn’t strike you as a pervert. Especially that kind of pervert. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

His cheeks turn a bright shade of red as he sputters out, “N-No that’s not—I would _never_ watch someone—first of all—_look_,” he’s kind of cute when he’s embarrassed, flailing his hands in a ceasing gesture, not meeting her eyes as he tries to come up with excuses, “—I’m not into that. Peeping on people, and I _definitely_ don’t have a… piss kink. And those are words I never want to hear coming out of my mouth ever again.”

“Then why did you follow me?”

“Because,” he starts, walking toward her with more composure. His face isn’t as red, but his ears have yet to cool down, “I had a feeling you weren’t actually doing that. And my feeling was right. You didn’t need to take your special sword—an iron one would’ve been fine—but you did.”

“That’s not enough to discern I didn’t have to actually pee.”

“Okay let’s move on from that,” he says quickly. “You could’ve just said you wanted to practice using your Relic.”

“And what just nearly happened to you, Claude, when you watched?”

“My smile would’ve permanently reached all the way to the back of my head.”

“Exactly. This thing is dangerous, and I’m not going to practice using it around so many people.”

She sighs, staring at the sword. It’s not pulsating as much now. “I don’t even know why I brought it; I don’t know how to use it. Guess it’s just a last resort. But I also can’t leave it lying around wherever. Our missions take us away from the monastery for several days. Several days where I can’t keep an eye on this weapon.”

“Are you going to use it during our battle against Miklan?”

It’s not a good idea. And they’re supposed to arrest him, not kill him. His mooks? They’ll probably have to cut them down. But Miklan is supposed to be brought in for questioning, first and foremost. She also doesn’t like the idea of killing Sylvain’s brother right in front of him.

“Not if I don’t have to. But, I’ll bring it along anyway.” Byleth starts to wrap up the sword again. There’s less daylight now, and she can see the faint glow of a campfire some ways beyond the screen of trees. “Let’s head back.”

“Aww, but you were just getting started!”

“No. Dinner will be ready soon, and I want everyone to get proper rest for tomorrow. You can follow me back,” she says, walking away, “or you can stay here by yourself.”

Claude jogs up to her, meeting her steps. “Alright, alright. You sound kinda mad.”

“You didn’t listen to my instructions, and followed me here. Snuck up on me as I was practicing. I almost accidentally sliced through your head. Is there any other way I should be feeling?”

“Okay, I’m sorry. And maaaybe you have a point in not letting the others be nearby while you practice with the Sword of the Creator. But I’ll be careful next time and stay a safe distance away.”

“There is no next time,” she says without looking at him.

“C’mon, Teach. Can I at least touch it?”

“No.”

He huffs, shrugging. “Eh, I’ll see it in due time, I’m sure.”

She doesn’t respond. Just keeps on walking. He really is too curious for his own good, and it’s a little irritating. She would’ve never forgiven herself had she hurt him, even if was an accident. Divine Pulse could’ve been her safety net, but, she hasn’t really tested out how many times she can use it in one day. And she hopes she doesn’t have to use it tomorrow.

“Hey, Teach.” Byleth hums in acknowledgment. “About Sunday, at dinner,” he pauses, scratching the back of his head, “…thanks.”

“That’s not necessary. Those students were spreading lies about you. It needed to be corrected.”

“Yeah, but I can count on one hand the number of people who’ve,” he pauses again, briefly, “stuck up for me, just because. Or stuck up for me at all.”

She stops them in their stroll to face him. “I will always stick up for you, Claude. You’re my student. And you may not be my friend, but you’re my partner. It’s not a bother in any way, so there’s no need to thank me for it.”

He groans. “Yeah, but. Still. Thanks. And the partner thing… that’s kinda like we’re friends.”

“How? I thought you were like my coworker.”

“Look at it like being friends in a professional setting. Sure, because you’re the teach, and I’m but your humble pupil, we can’t be friends in the same way Hilda and Marianne are, or Ignatz and Raphael. But, as partners, that’s like us being coworkers in a friendly way.”

Friendly coworkers. So, she still needs to keep her distance, but she can be just the slightest bit more casual with him. That kind of makes sense.

“_And_,” he adds, before she can comment on his definition, “what that means is that you and I need to work together to keep this class afloat. That can only be done if we cooperate and get along, right?”

She nods. “Right.”

“Yeah! So, we don’t have to stop hanging out, or stop spending time together outside of academic things. Because that’s us getting to know one another more so we can ensure we get along. It’s for our class’ benefit, really.”

“I guess I can understand what you’re getting at.”

Claude grins, and goes to a patch of flowers near the base of a tree. They’re tiny and pink, in little clusters on a single stem. He plucks one from the ground. “Right. And if the class sees how well we get along,” he tucks the flower in her hair, snuggled behind her ear, “then everyone will follow our example,” he ends with a wink.

Byleth brushes her fingers along the small flowers, and hums. Well, cooperation is key to survival out on the battlefield. If everyone can get along with each other, then they’ll be all the more prepared outside the classroom.

“Okay. I can work with that.”

They reach the campground again after a few more minutes. Jeralt’s mercenaries have returned with a large boar and are working on filleting it off to the side. Gilbert, Ashe, and Leonie, along with some soldiers, are preparing vegetable side dishes. Mercedes and Bernadetta are working on some small pastries with whatever bread and fruit ingredients they brought with them. A kind Byleth assumes can be made on the go. Everyone else is finishing the tent set-ups or feeding the horses.

Her class asks why Claude is with her, and Byleth responds that he tried to peep on her while she did her business. His face once again turns red as he quickly and somewhat assertively corrects the facts of the encounter before people get thoughts into their heads.

“Damn,” Sylvain gives him a strange look, “even _I’m_ not into that stuff, Claude.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” remarks Felix off to the side.

“No, _no_.” Claude holds up a finger. “Like I said, that’s _not_ what happened. Teach was practicing with the Sword of the Creator and she didn’t want anyone else around so she lied about having to pee. She’s just picking on me ‘cause I wasn’t following instructions.”

He shakes his head at everyone, crossing his arms. “Geez. What kinda guy do you all take me for, anyway?”

“I almost sliced his face off because he startled me,” she admits. She explains about the whip, and her methods of trying to control it. “Had it been an inch closer, he might’ve been down one ear. But now he knows not to do that again. Right, Claude?”

“Right, right. Won’t do it again, promise.”

Some of them ask her questions about why she had to hide her training at all. She uses Claude as an example again, stating that until she learns how to fully handle it, they could be in danger if they’re too close. Linhardt insists on watching her next time so he can accurately calculate how far the whip extends, and she just agrees so they can all get to dinner.

When the food is done, and everyone sits around the campfire, she takes a seat next to Sylvain. He gives her a surprised look, then smiles widely, making a comment about it being an honor that she actually chose to sit next to him.

She wants to talk about Miklan. To make sure her student is ready for the confrontation. But Sylvain is in a decent mood, at least right now. And at least, outwardly. She doesn’t want to give him any potential anxieties that’ll prevent him from sleeping soundly. He’s probably thinking about it regardless, so there’s no need to make it worse.

He makes idle chatter about the food, and a comment that he didn’t know Gilbert could cook. Sylvain then spots the pink flower in her hair. Pointing to it, he compliments, “Those are cute. You look nice with flowers in your hair, Professor. Where’d you find them?”

“Claude actually picked them on our way back. He put them there.”

“Did he now?”

Byleth hums and nods, taking another bite of her cooked boar meat. Sylvain casts Claude a glance who’s sitting next to Linhardt. They’re eagerly discussing something. Byleth can’t tell about what, but if she has to guess, probably about the sword.

“They could be poisonous,” he continues, “like the one I picked for you _almost_ was. You sure it’s okay for you to wear it?”

“Claude knows about a lot of plants and flowers. So does Ashe. I figure one of them would’ve told me if it was poisonous or not. Besides, it’ll probably fall off at some point.”

“Better to take it off now,” and he plucks it from her hair, letting it fall onto the ground beside the rock they’re sitting on, “since it might get in your food and stuff. Can’t be too careful.”

Sylvain looks across the campfire again where Claude is now eyeing him. Though they’re both smiling at each other, there’s something strained about it. An intense focus lays between them as they meet each other’s stare.

Whatever the reason is, so long as it doesn’t affect their combat ability, she’ll leave that as their own business.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


They’re back on the road again early the next morning. Light gray clouds blanket the sky as the sun rises to greet the land for another long day. There’s a village they pass through for last minute preparations. But they don’t end up adding more to their inventory. Everything was pillaged by Miklan and his gang of thieves a few days ago. Apparently, some women were abducted too.

“Those poor people,” laments Mercedes as they continue onward away from the damaged homes and broken shops. “I wonder if we can do something to help….”

“Isn’t this town on Fraldarius territory?” asks Leonie. Turning to Felix, she says, “I don’t know how nobles run things, but can’t you ask your dad to help them out?”

“I could,” he starts, “but I won’t, until we can see exactly what spoils the thieves plundered. We could give it back to the village. Whatever remains, anyway. But our priority should be rescuing those missing women, now. These thieves truly are despicable garbage, preying on the innocent civilians like that. Let’s make sure they’re dealt with swiftly.”

Sylvain is quiet, staring down at Nyx’s mane as they ride along. Byleth wonders what he’s thinking. Does he feel some kind of guilt being related to the bandit leader, Miklan? Or is he enraged that his brother would do something horrible to innocents?

“Have you any reservations about the upcoming battle?” Lorenz asks him. “I have heard that the bandit leader is the eldest son of House Gautier, Miklan. Is that not correct? I was not even aware you had a sibling, Sylvain.”

“My good-for-nothing brother was disowned a few years ago for not having a Crest, among other things,” he says. “I haven’t seen him since, and so I don’t know what he’s been up to. Guess I do now.” He gives Lorenz a glance. “And no, I don’t have any reservations. He’s no longer a part of House Gautier, and no longer my brother. I’m ready to take him down if it comes to that. Which it will. Miklan would rather die fighting than surrender.”

“That is assuring, but should you feel regret—”

“I won’t,” he cuts in. “We’re far past the point of regrets. It always falls on the younger ones to clean up the mess of the elders, doesn’t it?”

He grows quiet as he stares off at some fixed point in the distance. “Don’t bother losing your head over those lowlifes. They’re nothing more than common thieves.” Looking back to his classmate, he ends, “Thanks for the concern, Lorenz, but you can keep it.” He rides ahead to where Gilbert is, and doesn’t look back.

“Professor.” Lorenz looks to her now from atop his horse. “Sylvain is determined to face his brother in combat, but I have a feeling he isn’t of sound mind at the moment to truly comprehend what this will mean. Should Miklan be killed—as he most likely will be, well, I am just saying Sylvain could reflect more on the aftermath of this.”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t time for reflection right now, Lorenz,” she replies. “While it pleases me to see you’re concerned over the well-being of your classmates, we don’t know what Sylvain’s relationship with his brother is like. Or about how his home life was. It’s not really any of our business if he doesn’t want to elaborate. But later I’ll speak with him for you, if it’ll help you feel better.”

“Yes, well, I am only doing my duty as backup leader—”

“And who voted for that?” interrupts Claude. “Last I checked, I’m still alive. And Teach would technically be the next in line to ‘lead’ this class.”

Lorenz ignores him, and continues, “—so I’m only making sure every one of us is well enough for our missions.”

Claude looks like he wants to argue again, but turns his attention ahead of them instead. At the end of the dirt road is a large fortress with a massive tower spanning several stories. Each level gets smaller the further up it goes. (Raphael makes a comment that it looks like a multi-tiered cake.) High walls in deep gray brick and thick columns surround it, with an arched walkway cutting through the center. A much smaller, thinner lookout tower is dwarfed by it at the corner of the compound. The entire premises is very old, considering some of it and the tower have crumbled away.

“Y’know,” Claude starts, “even for a tower, it’s still very… er, towering. That’s pretty high up. If my gut’s correct, I’m sure Miklan is at the top of it. How many stories do you think it has, Teach?”

“If the outside correctly indicates what the space is going to be like on the inside, it looks like five or six. While that doesn’t seem like a lot, each level looks really wide.”

“Damn, that’s gonna be a lot of climbing. But it’s pretty massive. If it’s as wide on the inside as it looks on the outside, I think the cavalry will still be able to ride their horses just fine.”

Gilbert stops their company several paces away. “The caravans will go no further. There’s a good chance archers are hiding behind the few parapets that remain.”

Everyone dismounts and prepares for the inevitable battle ahead. Bernadetta keeps mumbling to herself to calm down, but it only makes her more afraid as she watches the looming fortress with large eyes. Raphael mentions he’ll protect her, and that has the girl hiding behind him, maybe instinctively.

“Say, Gilbert,” Claude turns to the man sitting on a boulder, sharpening his axe with a whetstone, “you’re from the Kingdom, right? What can you tell us about Conand Tower?”

“Several hundred years ago,” he says, without looking up from his prep work, “this was an important stronghold for diffusing invasions from the north. Back then, this tower was built for both surveillance and defense. It will be difficult to seize it.”

Right now, Byleth can’t see any archers along the parapets. But maybe the enemy’s strategy is to attack while they’re inside. It’s their hideout. For how long it’s been so is anyone’s guess. They’d know it inside and out. But there aren’t too many thieves according to the reports. Only enough to give them some trouble, but they brought battalions with them for a reason.

“Huh, then we’re gonna need a flexible plan of action,” Claude notes. “You mind if I ask you a few more questions, Gilbert?”

“Not at all. If I’m able, I will answer.” He inspects the blade of the axe, and then sets the down whetstone. The veteran knight lays his weapon flat across his lap. “What is it that you’d like to know, Lord Claude?”

“Ah, formalities aren’t necessary,” he mentions with a dismissive wave. “What I wanted to ask is about the Relic. The Lance of Ruin. Have you ever seen it?”

“Only once. A long time ago. It was an impressive—if not eerily ominous—weapon to behold. It was certainly not like a lance I have ever seen in all my years. According to Margrave Gautier, Miklan has used the lance to turn the tables on his previous pursuers.”

Gilbert looks to Byleth then, saying, “I believe that is why Lady Rhea requested you be the one to stop him, Professor. Normally, I would assume that a Relic is useless if one doesn’t know how to wield it. But Miklan is a competent combatant. You will be able to fend him off with the Sword of the Creator.”

Except _she_ doesn’t know how to use it. But it’s looking like everyone expects her to, now. Sure, without the whip capability, it’s just like any other sword. Knowing how to use that extra feature, though, is advantageous. One she hasn’t yet controlled. In that regard, Miklan is one step ahead of her, despite him not—

“Oh,” she starts, “but, how can Miklan use it if he doesn’t have a Crest?”

“That’s just what I was about to ask, Teach!” Claude replies. “Great minds think alike.”

Gilbert shakes his head. “That, I do not know.”

“Interesting….” Claude crosses his arms, rubbing at his chin as he looks up to the sky in thought. “As far as I know—or what’s been said, actually—that’s not possible. Then again, maybe that’s just another mystery to solve. Like how Teach is the only one with the Crest of Flames, and so the sword will only respond to her.”

Turning to her, he grins. “Guess you’re just that special. I’ll be expecting great things from you this battle.”

“We all need to work together,” she says quickly, because this isn’t the kind of pressure she wants. Not right now. “This is a combined effort; it doesn’t just fall on me. As house leader, I’ll be counting on you too, ‘partner’.”

He gives a laugh. “Well how about handing over the sword for a bit? Just to see if I can use it?” When she responds with silence and a depth-defying stare, Claude backs away a step. “Okay, okay! I promised, I know. I was kidding, Teach. We’ll work together, don’t you worry. For starters, let’s go over our plan on how to get into the fortress.”

She, Claude, and Gilbert, along with a few other more seasoned soldiers, scrounge up the next steps in their course of action. They use the field notes from the scouts about the enemy numbers and their personal arsenal. Most of the thieves are melee infantry. But a handful of archers and mages were also seen with them. A few cavalry too.

The knights brought along with them what remains of the architectural map of the tower. The layout of the fortress is plain, as its primary function was for surveillance, like Gilbert said. The main defense was the massive wall that spanned several acres, but all of it is in shambles now. The interior doesn’t have complex mazes or traps.

But the tower itself spirals six stories, and is very wide with impressively high ceilings. Maybe a bit tight for aerial mounts, but there’s plenty of space for horses to run about with their riders. A few rooms are located on every story, which the thieves could very well use to ambush them. Miklan is most likely aware they’re already here, and might be setting up traps as they speak.

In summary, it’s going to take them a while to reach the top in one piece.

“Well,” Claude huffs, looking down at all the notes they’ve made on formations, “we better get a move on, then. We want daylight to be on our side as long as possible. Although…,” he looks up at the sky, just as a gentle drizzle begins to patter on the ground, “we might have less time than we think. The clouds over yonder are looking pretty dark.”

“Then if everyone is fully prepared,” Gilbert starts, “we should start our advancement.”

Only a few soldiers are left behind to look after the caravan. The rest of them, and Byleth’s class, proceed down the road. Ignatz spots something glistening along the parapets, and Claude shoots at arrow at it. An archer falls over the wall, the projectile stuck in his chest.

“Yeeeah,” Claude starts, “that’s definitely gonna let them know we’re right outside their door. Everyone, get ready.”

Storming into the premises isn’t the difficult part. The ratio of thieves to the maximum capacity of the fortress is very disproportional. They’re met with little resistance in the courtyard. Archers aiming at them from windows are killed by Claude’s battalion, and heavily fortified knights melt under the spells cast by Lysithea’s own company of mages.

It’s when they’re in the tower that things start to get cumbersome.

For one, it’s not very well-lit. And the few windows that line the outer walls don’t do much to make visibility easier with the gray skies. Two, like they thought, some of the thieves jump out of the side rooms to attack them. As the interior of the tower is a gradual spiral, there really isn’t flat ground.

Sometimes the horses misstep and panic. Sometimes it works to their advantage, knocking over one of the enemies so someone has enough time to take them out.

But other times, their riders have to put in extra effort to calm them down.

It’s for this reason that she’s grouped her class’ formations around whichever students are cavaliers: Sylvain, Leonie, and Lorenz. One mage each (Mercedes, Linhardt, and Lysithea), one archer each (Bernadetta, Ashe, and Ignatz), and one other infantry skilled in melee range (Felix, Petra, and Raphael). Marianne and her battalion are kept in the center to heal them and everyone else, with Hilda as extra protection should someone try to sneak up on her. Lysithea’s battalion is instructed to light their way with fire magic so they have more of an idea of where they’re going. Claude weaves in and out through the formation, filling in for their blind spots when thieves try to jump out at them through the shadows.

Byleth leaves the class in his hands while she’s up ahead with Jeralt’s mercenaries, being the first in the line of danger. Gilbert and his battalion hang back at the rear to protect the class from stragglers. It’s this close-knitted series of formations into the larger one that has them cutting through the spiral all the way to the top floor.

When they get there, she’s sure they’ve taken out at least half of Miklan’s gang of thieves. She looks back to her company and students. Some of them are injured, but not gravely so as Marianne and her battalion help soothe their pain with the gentle hum of white magic.

“This should be the last floor,” Byleth tells them all. Hearing footsteps from the distance away, she adds, “And so I’m guessing the rest of Miklan’s crew are up here.”

Linhardt tries to catch his breath as he rests his hands on his knees. “I hate—why—stairs. So… So many. This sucks.”

“C’mon, you’ve been doing well enough so far,” Leonie says. “Don’t give up now, Lin.”

“Professor,” starts Petra, “is this truly the last of floors? Why does there look like there is one remaining?” She points to the high wall to their left. It doesn’t quite reach the ceiling. But broken pieces of the stone show pillars on the other end. There is also the glow of torches coming from them.

“You’re right. It looks like there’s one more. But it doesn’t connect all the way to the ceiling, so it could just be some kind of pedestal. Either way, I don’t think there’re more stairs. Maybe just a slope of stone when we get around there.”

“Pay mind to those broken pieces of the wall,” Felix says with a nod toward them. “An optimal place for archers to strike us.”

Gilbert hums as he glances up at them. “I agree. Our formation has worked so far, so we will continue as is. But I’m sure Miklan is waiting behind there. If the professor’s assumption is correct, we won’t be able to reach him until we’ve rounded this last bit of the spiral.”

While it’s a good thing they don’t have any aerial knights in their company, Byleth would’ve sure liked a couple to soar up there to see how many more enemies they have left to fight. She’ll have to look into assigning at least one of her students as a pegasus or wyvern rider.

As they reach the first corner of the room, Bernadetta shrieks, pointing behind them. “M-More are coming! F-From the stairway!”

Sure enough, another group of thieves charge toward them. Gilbert curses under his breath, and then shouts, “Professor, advance with your class! I will handle these ruffians. Please watch out for the archers as well!”

He turns around with his men as they make a wall to prevent any other thieves from ganging up on them. Byleth looks to her students and says, “We won’t have Gilbert as our rear defense until he’s finished over there, so we’ll have to adjust the forma—”

She dodges just in time as an arrow pierces the ground where she stood. Ashe is the first to react, shooting the enemy archer with his own arrow and striking them in the gut. They fall over, holding their stomach.

“Oh, thank you, Ashe,” she tells him.

“Of course, Professor. I’ll keep an eye out on the holes in the wall.”

“Me too,” says Ignatz. “Us archers can be in the back to look ahead for any lurkers.”

Bernadetta mumbles that she has no objections being far away from the front. Claude agrees with the others. “Alright, we’ll hang back here then. Teach, what’s the new plan?”

With the archers acting as the rear guard, Byleth still has her cavaliers up front with the melee infantry. The mages and healers are kept in the center for all-around coverage. “Although the mercenaries and myself will continue our assault as the first defenders. Speaking of…,” thieves rush toward them, weapons raised, “our short break is over.”

She lunges ahead, striking her iron sword into the torso of the closest thief. When he falls over, the rest of her class moves ahead with the mercenaries at her side. Claude and his fellow bow-wielding classmates yell at the others to jump a certain way when they spot enemy snipers aiming from their roost. It results in close calls from the air and on the surface.

More often than not, Felix and Petra have to swerve immediately from a thief using their distraction to swipe at them. Raphael has thicker leather armor than most so only gets nicked a little before he’s pummeling the attacker away from him and the others. Sylvain and Lorenz go head-to-head with enemy cavaliers, blocking with their shields and thrusting forward with their lances. Leonie stays behind to snipe from her spot on the horse, landing an arrow right in the neck of a horseman who was about to stab his lance through Lorenz’s side. Without a second wasted, she swerves her horse around as she stows away her bow, to another thief advancing to her left, and slashes him across the face with her lance.

_That time between switching weapons was so fluid. _

When her class reaches the next corner, Lysithea shouts, “Wait! It’s an ambush!” as more thieves jump out of a hidden stairway. Sylvain and Lorenz rear back their horses who give loud neighs as enemy swords barely miss swiping at the legs of the creatures. Mercedes and Linhardt cast their elemental spells at the two men, blowing them back to barrel into their cohorts. Lysithea commands her battalion to cast a wide-range fire spell on the cluster of thieves.

The class moves out of the way as fire rains on that corner of the room. Yells and screams from the men have them scrambling, some engulfed in flames and others not. Felix and Petra swirl about the commotion to end their lives swiftly by slashing upwards along their torsos to their throats.

More neighs echo around the enormous space, but it’s not from their own horses. Three pegasus fliers charge at them from the high ceilings, aiming their swords and lances for the kill.

Petra slips out her bow and takes aim, shooting at one of the pegasus’ legs, but it does little to stop their advancement. She opts for her sword again, ready to parry the oncoming attack. Linhardt casts a wind spell that blows them away, nearly knocking one of the riders off her mount. But she manages to hold onto the saddle’s horn, and tosses a javelin at him.

Byleth surges forward, hops onto the back of Leonie’s horse to leap upward, and knocks the weapon off its trajectory with her sword. It pierces through the chest of another thief and he’s soon a lump on the ground amidst all the chaos.

There aren’t any windows or broken pieces of the wall on this side, so Byleth says to her archers, “Focus on the fliers! Get them out of the air!”

“On it, Teach!” replies Claude as he takes aim at one of them diving toward for Lysithea. The arrow is released, striking itself in the sword arm of the rider. The weapon slips out of her grasp and clatters to the floor. Felix slides in to pick it up, tossing it into the underbelly of the pegasus when it’s close enough during its apex of descent. The point strikes its hide, digging itself deep into its body.

The pegasus gives a loud, agonizing neigh as it thrashes about, throwing its rider off. She falls, and makes a sickening crunch when she hits the ground. Her mount falls right beside her some moments later, bleeding out on the floor.

Marianne makes a strangled, pained noise that she tries to hide in her throat when she sees the animal slowly dying. Tears well up in her eyes but she advances forward, healing Raphael who got grazed with an axe on his left arm.

The remaining two pegasus fliers are thankfully distracted by Claude and the other archers trying to take them down. They swerve and dodge, and then call over their shoulder to down below. Byleth sees three more archers behind melee-ranged thieves taking aim at them.

“Shit,” Claude mutters under his breath, as he aims at the closest one instead. They’re hit in the chest and stumble backward, and then the rest are aiming at him. Being nearby, Lysithea casts Swarm Z, the arcane rune glowing in front of her. Almost immediately shadows of insects cloud around the enemy. The archers yell, dropping their bows. Other thieves next to them swat at the bugs with their swords, some accidentally slicing down their companions in the process.

“Now _that’s_ a scheme if I ever did see one!” Claude comments with a laugh. “Nice job, Lysithea!”

“It’s only right I help you after you helped me,” she says dismissively. “Thanks, though….”

“What does that spell do, actually?”

“Summons the ‘essence’ of insects. They bite and sting everywhere at the enemy in large numbers for about a minute. If there are actual insects nearby, then this spell gets stronger since it’ll entrance them to join the assault. Visibility is hindered and the throbbing pain will have most enemies unable to attack back afterward.”

He whistles. “I’ll try to remember that the next time I wanna crouch down to talk to you.”

“Yeah you _better_ or you’ll have insects crawling up places you didn’t even know existed, _Claude_!” she yells, then goes back to her battalion to instruct their next plan of attack.

Gilbert and his men catch up to them, and their formations change to barreling into the remaining thieves around the bend of the spiral. When they reach the last corner and have shot down the mages lurking behind the pillars, Byleth looks to everyone as they take a short break to heal.

For the most part, her magic students aren’t outwardly injured. But they do look incredibly exhausted. While magic doesn’t really take physical toll, mentally and spiritually it still drains them. Mercedes is finishing up healing a wound on Sylvain’s thigh, and he says some tired joke that has her smiling just a little.

Lorenz dismounts from his horse to stretch his legs. Marianne checks not only him for injuries, but his steed as well. Linhardt sits against the wall, eyes tightly shut as he clutches at his knees. Byleth goes over to him, and sees that he’s trembling.

“Linhardt, what’s wrong?” she asks, crouching down next to him.

He keeps his eyes closed, shaking his head. “So much blood. That pegasus rider who fell, body mangled and—,” he lurches only slightly, as if he wants to hurl, “Professor, this might be a bad time to tell you, but I can’t stand the sight of blood. Or gore. Or violence.”

_That explains why he’s a healer and not a melee combatant. _

“You should’ve told me sooner, Linhardt. If you can’t stomach this, you could’ve stayed behind with the caravans and the other soldiers.”

Opening his eyes, he looks to her. “I wanted to see the Lance of Ruin in action, and your sword as well. My research is—I can do this if it’s for my research. I just… so far I’ve never been on a mission where I had to kill people. And I did. I killed people, Professor.”

Maybe it’s his saddened, faraway look that makes her ask, “How old are you, Linhardt?”

“Sixteen.”

Ah. Despite how far her class has advanced, Byleth should never forget her students are just kids. And maybe it’s because Linhardt is significantly tall for his age that she thought he’d be older. But he’s the youngest student in her class so far along with Petra and Lysithea.

_Why does Rhea have us go on these missions? Make these kids do work the knights should be handling? Do the other classes go on dangerous excursions and assignments like mine always seem to do? They’re not raised to be killers, unlike me._

Byleth takes his hands in her own, holding them firm. He stops trembling, stares at them, and then back to her face. He’s giving her a questioning look, but for once has nothing to say.

“You’re my student now, Linhardt. That means my personal vow is extended to you. I’ll keep you safe, and teach you how to defend yourself. But more importantly, help you come to terms with the lives you must take. And I’m going to start by telling you it never gets easier. So you being afraid, or hating that you need to spill another’s blood in defense, I understand, and I won’t tell you to suck it up. It’s a good sign that you feel remorse.”

He’s still silent as he looks at her, and finally manages a smile. It’s small, but a relief to see all the same. “Professor, thank you.”

“Of course. I know this isn’t currently a safe environment, but I want you to know you can talk to me if you need something off your shoulders. So, for now, you’ll be support. Focus on healing your allies, or join up with Marianne’s battalion. Unless you absolutely have to, don’t engage in combat.”

“I can do that. Alright, I feel a little better.” He lets go of her hands and tells everyone, “If anyone needs healing, just come over here because I don’t feel like moving no matter how much you ask.”

_He’s found his sense of calm again_. Byleth stands and leaves as others gather around him. She walks around to survey the damages. Any lacerations are healed by the monks, the only remnants left of them being ripped clothes or cracked armor.

She takes a head count of her class, and that’s when she spots Lysithea. Looking weary, slumped against a pillar. A weak hand is pressed against it as she tries to steady herself.

This assignment is taking a toll on her younger students more than the others.

Byleth goes over to her. “Are you alright, Lysithea? You’ve been amazing this whole battle, but I don’t want you over exerting yourself.”

“I’m…,” she breathes, “I’m fine, Professor.”

“Regardless, let me help you. Our battle is not over. Everyone needs to be healed for this last stretch.” She hands her a concoction, which she drinks immediately. Then Byleth concentrates, gently placing her hands on either side of the girl’s face. Warm, green healing magic begins to flow through her fingers, and Lysithea closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

After a few moments, her student says, “Okay, I think I’m good now.” Byleth lets her go, and gets a tired smile from her. “Thank you, Professor. You know, I think if you really practiced, you could do well with white magic. I feel… great, actually. I think you have an affinity for it.”

“You think so? Healing magic is one of the most crucial elements of battle; I’ll have to look into it when we get back to the monastery. Thank you for this insight, Lysithea.”

“Of course.”

So, she might have a knack for healing. A useful skill to have, and one she’ll definitely need to cultivate. But right now, she can’t really use it all that much. Even the little she did to help Lysithea leaves her feeling slightly drained.

“Is everything alright, Professor?” Gilbert asks, walking over to her. His armor clanks as he does so.

“Yes, just taking a short break. How many thieves are left?”

“A very small grouping of them are with Miklan.” He looks up to the walled pedestal where torches are lit. They can’t see over it, however. “But for whatever reason, he hasn’t tried to leave from there. I assume he’s waiting for us.”

“Then let’s not make him wait any longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring semester has finally ended, so I can return now! I'm behind on my drafts again, though.... I'll try to write all throughout this weekend to catch up before next Friday. But if I don't, I might have to take another week off soon to be ahead 5 drafts like usual. 😅
> 
> Can you believe we're on Chapter 30 of this fic and we're barely at the chapter 5 battle of the game? LMAO At this rate, I feel like pre-timeskip might go over 50 chapters for my story. Oof. Speaking of, this chapter was actually supposed to be _much_ longer but it got _too_ long so I had to cut it in half. Next time, the cast will confront Miklan, and Sylvain gets another spotlight....
> 
> Don't really have much to say again. Except tishtish4 on Twitter [drew the Sylveth rain scene](https://twitter.com/tishtish4/status/1257152210552582144?s=20) from Chapter 27!! Please go take a look, it's great! :D I'll add this as an edit to my author's notes for that chapter too. Thanks so much for drawing it! 💕
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	31. XXXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> During one of their stops for camp, Byleth practices wielding the Sword of the Creator within the privacy of the nearby forest. Claude, however, interrupts with his unwavering curiosity and nearly gets injured on accident. It upsets Byleth how insistent he is on watching her train with it, but she calms down once the conversation turns into a talk about what it means to be partners as instructor and house leader. It's a "professional" friendship, although she's still not sure how to act with those parameters. Come dinnertime, she notices Sylvain and Claude regard each other with a kind of strained intensity, although she doesn't know why, or really care, as long as it doesn't affect their teamwork. The next day, they finally reach Conand Tower and begin the assault on the fortress. While its size makes it tedious to climb, everyone manages to reach the top floor mostly fine despite having to cut their way through clusters of thieves. All that's left is Miklan, and Byleth worries a little that Sylvain won't be ready to face him like he assured her he was.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXI ⧽  
  
The Black Beast of Gautier

“There, all better,” Mercedes says as she finishes up healing a laceration on his leg. She smiles tiredly at Sylvain. “You’re good to go!”

“Thanks, Mercedes. You’re a real angel,” he says with a grin. “I feel great.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that! I always worry if—,” she wobbles on her legs, and Sylvain catches her before she falls over, “goodness, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey don’t apologize. You need to take it easy; you’ve been keeping us all healthy and in top shape. You gotta rest too, y’know.”

“I know. But I can’t help but fret over everyone being okay.”

“Well you’re not the only healer here.” He nods over to Marianne and her battalion examining everyone’s injuries. Linhardt is still sitting on the floor as others join him or crouch down so he can take care of their inflictions. Lysithea is with Byleth who is… healing her? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Although she did also take those supplemental lessons with them. He forgets Byleth is still sort of learning alongside the class.

“That’s true. I’ll try to be more careful from now on.”

Sylvain helps her stand upright. Mercedes looks over to the far wall, just before the stout staircase to the platform. “Around that corner we’ll find your brother. Sylvain,” she looks to him, a gentle hand on his forearm, “will you be alright facing him?”

_I’ll have to be_, he thinks, but refrains from saying it aloud. As much as he likes beautiful women fretting over him, Mercedes doesn’t deserve that extra stress. “Yeah. I came to peace with it a long time ago. That he and I will never see eye-to-eye.”

Miklan made that very clear back in their younger years when he ‘accidentally’ left him locked outside the vacation cabin in the dead of winter. At night. Or tripped him when he was coming down the stairs from the second floor of their home. Sylvain needed _a lot_ of white magic that time.

He doesn’t ever get to hear what Mercedes says in response. Or learn how she feels about it all. Byleth calls to everyone then, telling those from the battalions to stay behind if they’re still significantly injured. She doesn’t want anyone dying if she can prevent it.

“Likewise,” she says to her students, “if you want to hang back here, then I won’t object. Miklan wields the Lance of Ruin, and if it’s anything like Catherine’s Thunderbrand, then it’s not smart to fight against it if you’re not ready.”

Bernadetta slowly raises her hand. When she sees no one else is willing to fall back, she hesitantly pulls it back down and gives a muffled cry with a closed mouth. Raphael hears, and gently tells her, “It’s okay, Bernie. I’ll still be here to protect ya! Just think of me like your big shield!”

She squeaks a little, leaping behind him.

“Well,” Sylvain jumps back up on his horse, “it’s now or never.”

“Please be careful, Sylvain,” comes Mercedes’ soft voice. “I’ll be right here if you need help for anything, but I won’t get in your way.”

“You? Get in anyone’s way? Impossible,” he replies with a wink. That earns him another small smile, and then he’s guiding Nyx to the front of the formation.

Felix notices him, but doesn’t say anything. He only gives him his usual neutral stare, and a slight nod. He walks beside Sylvain as they approach the final corner of the spiral, and for that, he’s thankful.

The staircase is relatively wide that enough of them can fill it out. At the center of the massive platform, Miklan is there, donning heavy armor and the Lance of Ruin. He looks the same as Sylvain last remembers him, the vibrant Gautier red locks and all. Although his hair has grown out to touch his shoulders, and isn’t at all well-kept. But the biggest change, is the deep scar across his face.

Though he stands at the center of the platform on his own, a small battalion of his last remaining thieves are rallied behind him some feet away.

Byleth is about to approach him, but Sylvain moves forward instead. He stops Nyx just in front of her. When Miklan sees him, he gives a bitter laugh.

“Well well, look who it is. My _special_ baby brother. The little _prince_ of House Gautier,” he sneers. “Why have you come, you Crest-bearing fool?”

The venom that drips out of every last word is enough to kill a large bear.

“I’m here for the Lance of Ruin, Miklan,” Sylvain replies calmly. He keeps his expression neutralized as he steadies his breathing. “It’d be smart to hand it over. Don’t wanna humiliate you, but I will if I have to.”

“_Humiliate_ me?!” he barks with a laugh. “What can a pampered, spoiled brat like you really do to me that you haven’t already done?” He glares at him, lip curling as he clenches his teeth.

_It’s not my fault I was born with a Crest, and you weren’t. Why can’t you understand that?_

Miklan growls. “Just hurry up and die already,” he continues when Sylvain doesn’t humor him with a reply. “If it wasn’t for you…,” he points the Relic at him, but doesn’t move, “if it _hadn’t_ been for _you_…!”

“_Shut up_!” Sylvain yells back. And damn him for giving in easily. His calm façade breaks, and he glares right back at his brother. He feels several pairs of eyes look to him at his outburst, but he doesn’t pay them any mind.

He should be able to handle this. He steeled himself. He was supposed to be ready. He knows how this is going to play out. And yet, he still tries for one last attempt, one last argument to make him understand, so the inevitable can be avoided.

His grip on the iron lance trembles, and he points his own weapon right back at his brother. “I’m so tired of hearing that! You’ve _always_ blamed me for something that isn’t my fault! Like I _asked_ to be born with a Crest! _None_ of what happened was my fault! And you’ve never just…!”

Closing his eyes, he takes a big breath and exhales deeply. They don’t need to hear this. His friends and classmates don’t need to trouble themselves with his past. It’s already happened. Left a festering wound that still hasn’t healed, no matter how many ways he tries to stitch it back up.

When he looks to Miklan again, he meets his stare. “Words are wasted on you. I know you want to kill me, so go ahead and try.”

“Sylvain—,” Byleth starts from down below, but he’s already moving forward.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he says without looking at her. He wonders what her expression is like, “but I have to fight him. I won’t be reckless; I promise.”

He’s thankful that she doesn’t protest. Felix grunts next to him, saying, “Don’t be stupid out there, Sylvain.”

“You know I’m only stupid with you, Felix,” he half-heartedly jokes, to which his friend just clicks his tongue and tells him to not make them wait for too long.

As his horse approaches, Miklan walks forward. “You trying to impress your little friends, Pampered Prince? You’re even more of an idiot than I thought. But if you wish to finally die by my hand, then I’ll count that as the high point of my day.”

There’s no more talking after that. Despite all the heavy armor, Miklan charges at him like a crazed man, weapon raised. Sylvain barely steers Nyx away from the swipe of the Lance of Ruin. He swerves her around and charges at Miklan, his own iron lance at the ready.

But Miklan defends with his shield, pushing it forward and causing the lance to bounce off it. Sylvain nearly loses his grip with it. He holds firm onto the shaft, trying to swipe across Miklan’s face, but nearly gets hit again with the Relic.

If only he knew magic, this would be a lot easier. All he knows is Nosferatu thanks to those extra lectures with Manuela. As it is right now, his lance isn’t going to do much against all that armor. And that damn shield. Shit. He can’t get too close either, otherwise he’ll meet a painful end with the very weapon that he was supposed to inherit.

_There has to be an opening in his armor_, Sylvain thinks as he tries charging again, but gets knocked back once more. _His head is the only thing that isn’t protected. And the upper parts of his legs. But I can’t reach that low on my horse…._

When the iron lance once again hits the shield, Sylvain winces as pain tingles up his arm from the shockwave. Nyx neighs loudly as she dodges another swipe of the Relic. Something jangles at her side and it’s then Sylvain remembers he brought an armorslayer. Byleth wanted him to have more skill with other weapons, so she had him practice with swords and axes.

It’s a long enough blade, and thicker than his iron lance. But it’s heavier, and he won’t be able to swing it as fast. He really should’ve practiced more with it before they came on this mission.

Sylvain curses under his breath and switches his lance for the sword, dodging another one of Miklan’s attacks. Nyx neighs again as Miklan swipes at her legs and Sylvain pulls the reins back, but he’s not given enough time to recover before the lance swipes at her flank, barely missing her hide.

Instead it sears through the buckles and straps of her saddle and Sylvain slips off, falling on his back. He partially hits the side of his head on the hard stone and cries out. Almost immediately he feels more white magic surge into his body, and he catches a glimpse of Mercedes casting Physic from her spot safely away among his classmates.

He thinks he hears Byleth calling out to him, but maybe that’s just his rattled mind playing tricks on him.

“You’re never left wanting, are you?” Miklan growls. “You got everything you could’ve ever dreamed of when we were kids.” Sylvain steadies himself as he rises to his feet. He lifts up the sword, holding it with both hands. Nyx ran off to the background, which is probably best so she doesn’t get killed. “The attention from our parents, inheritance of House Gautier, friends always trailing behind you, adoration from people who wouldn’t stop talking about how _amazing_ it is that you have a Crest.”

He gives a curling grin, looking beyond Sylvain’s shoulder. “Now you’ve got beautiful women fretting over you. You son of a _bitch_. You always get everything handed to you on a silver _platter_!”

Swiping at him again, Sylvain is ready for it. He dodges and keeps a safe distance away, blocking with his sword because he doubts his smaller shield will do anything useful against a Relic. Miklan continues to strike at him and maybe it’s because Sylvain knows they’re watching—that everyone behind him is waiting with baited breath for him to come out of this okay, because he asked them to not help him—that he drowns out all other noise and distractions as he fights his own kin to what’s most likely the death.

“Which one of them have you fucked already, huh?” Miklan taunts with a wicked grin as he slices the air again. “From what I hear, you can’t keep your dick in your pants. Should’ve known. You were already a horny little shit before your voice cracked. So which one? Which one of those warm holes have you stuck it in?”

He ignores him, not bothering to answer. It’s what he wants, to get an easy kill by distraction. Sylvain’s not going to die here.

“The dirty blonde over there, the hot nun? Chants your name at night like a prayer? Or maybe it’s the ginger. She ride you like she rides her horse?” Another blow, another dodge, and another parry with the armorslayer. “Pink pigtails looks like she’d give a fun time, too. How ‘bout that chick with the eye tattoo? That’s a tight body if I’ve ever seen one.”

Despite how many women he’s slept with, the way Miklan talks about Sylvain’s female classmates, the way he_ looks_ as he speaks, like they’re just—it makes his skin crawl. And he knows how ironic this sounds in his head, and how _laughable_ it’d be if he expressed this to those who already know how much he enjoys sharing a woman’s bed and gandering at all of their curves.

Miklan gives a cackle, thrusting the Relic forward. It narrowly misses Sylvain’s side but it does scrape against his armor on the return. “Pretty Boy Sylvain. Charming, talented, _adorable_, Sylvain José Gautier. I bet they’d all fuck you if you asked. You never just had to take what you wanted from them. But I highly recommend you try it sometime.”

“Is that why you kidnapped those poor women from the village?” he questions as his stomach churns at the thought, trying to keep his face straight. He jumps back from another swipe, and beads of sweat start to roll down his face. “I’m not like you, Miklan; I’ll never be like you. I know where the line’s drawn. Sure, I’m a piece of garbage, but even I’m not that rotten. Men like you deserve to burn along with all the other rancid trash.”

His brother gives another bitter laugh and swings the lance down on him. Sylvain blocks it with his sword, but the pressure has his knees threatening to buckle. He takes a deep breath and shoves all his might into the sword, pushing Miklan and the Relic away as he jumps back to catch his breath.

Miklan continues to grin at him. His eyes wander over to behind Sylvain’s shoulder again. “Ah, there’s one of your little snot-nosed friends, Fraldarius. He still a whiny little bitch? He was always so attached to you and that bleeding heart of a prince. Maybe it’s him you’ve fucked instead. Seems like the type to bend over a table and take it raw. Wouldn’t surprise me if you already did. Or maybe Ingrid. She was a tight-ass when you were kids, and I bet it’s still tight now.”

“Leave my friends out of this,” he replies—forcing back a growl, striking him with his sword as coals of anger begin to flare up in his gut. But Miklan blocks it with his shield, and very slightly stutters in his stance from the force. He’s getting tired. Good. “You don’t deserve to talk about them with your filthy, diseased mouth.”

“You piece of shit, still looking down on me from your pedestal.”

“I’ve never—,” but Sylvain swallows his protests just as the lance misses slicing off his nose. He does get a shallow cut along his cheek, and he can hear his classmates calling out to him. Byleth’s voice rings above them all.

“Sylvain, you have to fall b—!”

“Professor, I’ve got this! Just stay over there!”

Miklan grunts out an amused chuckle. “A hot young teacher too? _Seriously_? Fucker. You really just,” he thrusts the lance forward and Sylvain can only graze it with the sword to throw it off course before he’s dodging swipes again, “keep on getting _everything_.”

He thrusts the lance down to his legs, attempting to swipe but Sylvain swerves away from it and doesn’t dodge quite far enough because he gets a slash across his left arm, deep enough to pierce through the armor and make him bleed.

Sylvain struggles holding the sword with only his right arm as he uses it to block again once the lance hammers down onto the blade. Miklan snarls at him. “Oh I bet it’s her cunt that you’ve stuck it in, isn’t it? You always did get away with a lot because of how_ special_ you were.”

He glares at his brother, fury threatening to come to a boil. Miklan grins from ear to ear. “Ah, found it.” _Fuck._ “Your sore spot. Can’t blame you; she’s stacked. If I didn’t have to kill her along with all the others, I’d want her for myself. Just to see how loud she can scream when I’m inside her nice and tight wet—”

Gritting his teeth, Sylvain concentrates magic into his left palm and thrusts his injured arm upward into Miklan’s face. His brother gives a shout as he’s blown back by the white light from Nosferatu. His shield flies away in the process. Sylvain can feel the wound in his arm searing to a close, and he runs ahead with the armorslayer, holding it in both hands.

“Magic?! When the hell did you learn th—!”

He doesn’t give Miklan an opening for recovery and raises the blade in the way Byleth had shown them for the Wrath Strike technique. His Crest of Gautier glows in front of him as the sword slashes across Miklan’s chest, slicing through the breastplate and drawing blood from a deep wound.

There’s a kind of cruel humor that the thing Miklan hates—the thing they both hate—would remind them of how this all started in the first place. That it’s the icon of the permanent sever of whatever blood was left between them.

Miklan curses him, curses his Crest, his parents, the Kingdom of Faerghus, and even the church. The Lance of Ruin glows in his grip. He barks out another laugh, raising his head to look at him.

“Not bad—,” he clutches at his chest wound with his free hand, “for a spoiled brat.” He points the Relic at him. Goddess, he’s still standing? “Men,” he calls back to his battalion without looking at them, and they respond eagerly with ‘captain’ and ‘sir’, “let’s show these brats how—huh?”

The lance doesn’t stop glowing, and instead of its orange hue, the weird orb nestled in it starts to burn a vicious red. A black substance glittered with crimson seeps from it, snaking its way up Miklan’s arm. Sylvain stares wide eyed, taking several steps back.

“Wh-What the hell?!” Miklan cries, trying to yank it off, but it remains firm on his arm, growing more and more until it’s like a dark thunderous cloud, wrapping itself around his legs and torso. It expands around him, and Sylvain falls back, whistling to his horse Nyx who charges toward him. He swings himself onto her back and returns to Byleth and the class.

They’re not looking at him, but the cloud of pure darkness behind him. Wide-eyed and mouth agape at Miklan as he continues to struggle against the mysterious sludge. His men start to flee, shouting their confusion and fear. The cloud grows tall—very tall—and soon Miklan’s gargled screams die out.

Replacing them, are guttural, distorted growls. Not of a man, but of a beast.

When the black substance bursts, it reveals a beast—no, a monster. A large, looming creature with a black hide and razor-sharp claws. Its whip-like tail knocks over some of the thieves. A grotesque, clawed hand darts out at the closest one. He screams over and over before falling silent as his body is crushed between the creature’s fist.

Outside, through a broken piece of the furthest wall, the skies have gone dark, and rain pounds against the stone. Lightning illuminates the room for brief flashes, and it’s then that they can all see just how massive the creature is. Bigger than a dozen wyverns stacked on top of each other. Longer than if the winged creatures were measured from snout to tail.

The abomination tosses the mangled corpse away, making a disturbing bloody clump in the farthest corner. The black beast turns around, thrashing against the nearest wall. Standing on its hind legs, it focuses red eyes in black sockets at Sylvain and the others. Its neck is long and transitions evenly into its head. Lengthy sharp teeth jut out in several angles along its gaping mouth. Drool splatters excessively from its maw as it raises its head to roar. The whole floor trembles.

His brother is nowhere to be seen, and neither is the Lance of Ruin. But if he really tries, he thinks he can hear the remnants of his screams.

“What _is_ that?!” Sylvain shouts in disbelief when the roaring stops. “_Miklan_?!”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A chill runs down her spine when the creature hones in on her class. She’s never seen anything like it. Almost reptilian, with large thick scales acting like armor. Long spikes protrude from its back. Its head has various large holes and it’d be hard to tell where its eyes are if not for the glowing red orbs at the front. The monster stomps down on four legs, but doesn’t charge at them. Yet. Instead it notices the remaining thieves fleeing, and goes after them in the far corner.

_This is quite the predicament._

Sothis is awake now. Couldn’t have better timing because Byleth is at a loss on how to proceed. Or escape.

_I don’t even know how to fight that thing. I’ve never been faced with a monster. Or anything of that size. What are its weak points? Can it even be killed? How did it manifest?_

_I am assuming it can be killed. However, it is looking like you will have to use the Sword of the Creator, Byleth. Because I doubt the other weapons will make much of a dent, unless you somehow find a vulnerability._

_But I still don’t know how to—_

_Then you must learn. Quickly. You’re confused and unsure of what to do? Imagine how your students feel._

She looks to her class who can’t take their eyes off the monster. Bernadetta is full on crying now, still hiding behind Raphael who’s frozen where he stands, mouth open wide. All her other pupils look much the same. Even Felix, normally the least expressive, looks shocked.

“Uh, Teach?” Claude asks, sounding the most unsure she’s ever heard him. “So uh… gotta admit I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve here. Didn’t think I’d have to plan my schemes around demonic-looking creatures. I’d be _really_ grateful if you could toss in some ideas right about now.”

“I don’t… know what to do,” she admits. It’s not a reassuring or comforting answer at all, but it’s honest, at the very least. “This monster—I’ve never faced something like this.”

Linhardt is the next to speak, not looking away from the creature. “It appeared after Miklan tried to use the Lance of Ruin to its fullest. Now both of them are gone. Presumably, somehow combined to make that creature. Is this what happens to people who try to use a Relic without a Crest? They become… mindless beasts like that?”

The monster stomps on the ground, but it’s too dark in that corner to see what’s happening. There are a series of disturbing crunches, squelches, and dying screams. When it turns back around, both its forepaws are covered in blood and whatever remnants are left of the thieves. A leg, entrails, even a head.

“Oh,” Linhardt holds his stomach, looking like he wants to gag, “oh no I don’t like this. I don’t want to be here right now. Oh goddess….”

Nobody does, she’s sure. But it must be significant that Linhardt is so confused and possibly scared that he doesn’t even make a comment about this ‘revelation’ in his research.

Drool oozes from the beast’s maw, and then it roars again. It charges at them, its footsteps shaking the very floor they stand on. It’s massive, and only gets bigger and bigger the closer it gets. There is no friend or foe to this thing. Only obstacles to topple.

“PROFESSOR!” comes the horrified, high-pitched scream of Bernadetta when it’s a few yards away from them.

Byleth rushes forward with the Sword of the Creator, ignoring her students shouting at her to come back. Ignores Gilbert yelling at her that they must retreat.

And then what? They escape, and so will this creature. It’ll destroy the nearby villages and more innocent people will die.

The sword glows in her hand and she flicks it forward. Now, in this massive room, she can see just how far the whip reaches. It’s as long as the beast’s entire body, but faster than any of its limbs can move. It strikes just in front of its face, throwing it back. There’s a gash on its snout, but it neither bleeds, nor heals.

It focuses its fury on her, ignoring the clear opening to the others. Byleth cuts through the air with the whip and strikes it again on its side, and its chest, trying to force it back. The monster snarls—howls in pain. It tries to bite at her but she rolls out of the way and catches the whip on one of its fangs. With all her might, she yanks it and the fang snaps in half. The creature cries out in agony once more.

An arrow with a golden feathered fletching goes sailing into its eye socket, and it screeches, stumbling backward.

“Claude!” Byleth shouts at him. “What are you doing?! Stay back!”

“Are you kidding me, Teach?! You really expect us to just stand by and twiddle our thumbs as you take on this demon all by yourself? Sorry, but I’m gonna break my promise early and not follow your instructions!”

“I can whittle down its health—”

“And it’d go faster if we help you! Just yesterday you were telling me you don’t even know how to fully control the sword! And yet you’re out here using it anyway in such a dangerous situation! Earlier you even said you were counting on me, ‘_partner_’! No, I’m not falling back. If you’re gonna be mad at me, fine. But I’d rather you be mad than be dead!”

That spark of warmth blooms once more in her chest. It unfurls from its nook between her ribs, flowing through her very finger tips as she studies his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, brilliantly green eyes darting everywhere along the creature’s form, perhaps to look for a weak point.

_What are you doing, foolish girl?! You can be mesmerized by him later!_

_I wasn’t mes—_

_Just go! I… I am feeling drowsy again! I will not be able to aid…. _Sothis yawns._ Use Divine Pulse if you must…! I cannot… be here to…_

Swatting at its face where the arrow is, the beast is distracted enough for Lysithea to blast another Swarm Z. It’s bigger this time, and Byleth hears the buzzing of wings from all the cockroaches and locusts nearby, the scuttling of legions of spiders now crawling up the monster’s legs.

The creature thrashes, trying to get the insects out of its eyes and off its limbs. Then Lysithea commands her battalion to launch another combined spell. Fire rains down on the beast and it roars as the flames sear its flesh. Some of the insects burn, but there’s enough light now that her students can see every last inch of its form.

“Ranged weapons and mages stay behind for rear coverage!” she shouts at them. “Melee fighters, aim for its legs! Watch out for its jaw and tail! Healers stay far away!”

She looks to her father’s mercenaries when they run up to her. “We’ll use the fleeting formation. Cut down the tendons on its legs if you can, and slice at its tail so it can’t thrash everywhere. If it’s getting too close, rotate so it can’t hone in for long on a single cluster.”

They nod and are the first to engage the creature. Gilbert and his battalion are next, not wanting her class to endanger themselves with an anomaly. But they’re going to need all the help they can get.

As they strike at the creature, she notices a shimmering veil of light. Or magic? It acts like a shell around the creature’s hide. There are cracks growing alongside it. One of the cavalry tosses a javelin at it and the creature stumbles again, swaying. It looks dazed.

“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Claude asks beside her. “It’s some kind of barrier on its skin, separate from its scales. That’s why it wasn’t going down as easy before. But it looks like it’s breakable.”

Except the rest of its body still shimmers with said barrier. There must be separate parts. Right now its left side is vulnerable, but not the rest of its form.

“Lysithea,” she starts, “how much more energy do you have for magic?”

“I can keep going, Professor. There’s one spell I haven’t tried yet: Seraphim. But that’s because it’s white magic, and admittedly I’ve been practicing more on my reason spells. I think it might work.”

“Well we gotta hope so,” Claude comments.

The Swarm Z wears off as does the creature’s daze. Much of its limbs are slashed through, but its hide is thick, so she has to assume they haven’t cut through tendon yet. Gilbert calls for the archers in his battalion to fire a storm of arrows at its face to blind it, at least temporarily. Then he and the knights charge forward, weapons raised.

“As I was studying this faith spell,” Lysithea says after giving Claude a side-eye of annoyance, “I found that it was originally created to combat demons and other evil creatures. I can only assume it’ll apply to this… monster too. I don’t know how much it’ll damage it at my current experience, but we’ve got to try.”

“Then we’ll give you an opening,” Byleth says with a nod. She explains the veil of magic on the beast, and Lysithea agrees that she shouldn’t waste Seraphim trying to break that shell.

“Professor,” Hilda says as she walks up to her, “this is getting bad and I really don’t think I should be—”

“We’re going to need everyone’s combined power to defeat this thing.” There isn’t time for a huddle up to introduce a long comprehensive plan, so she says, “Archers and mages, at the rear providing support like I said before. Swords, axes, and lances are to be in the front. Raphael, I want you to punch it away if you see its head getting too close.”

“Got it, Professor!”

Byleth looks to Sylvain, who’s still staring at the creature as all the combat battalions try to keep it back. “Sylvain,” she starts, “with what’s happened, I don’t… well I don’t know if Miklan is still in there. And if he is—”

“Miklan is long gone by now,” he replies evenly. “There’s only this black beast. I failed to kill him when he was… human, so I won’t make that mistake again.”

She’s not sure what to say, so instead she tells them all of Lysithea’s spell; to keep her protected since it’s the best shot they have to severely weaken the monster. Then she disperses her class, telling them to work alongside the battalions so they can bring the creature to its knees.

“What’re you gonna do, Teach?” Claude asks as he’s notching another arrow in his bow. His quiver is starting to run empty. While he has a sword at his belt, she doesn’t want him that close to the black beast.

“I have to keep using my Relic, aiming for its head and neck. I just hope I won’t hurt anyone in the process.”

The monster roars as it attacks them. Soldiers jump out of the way but some cavalry fall off their horses at the sudden lunge. The monster follows them and swipes at the animals, picking one of them up, and rips it to shreds with its jaw. Bloodied clumps of flesh plop onto the ground beneath it.

Marianne screams at the sight as tears run anew down her face, and the rest of her students aren’t looking any more comfortable at the gore. Linhardt is trying his best to stare at the floor, but she thinks his face is starting to turn green.

Even so, her class doesn’t falter in their assault. Felix and Petra swerve around its tail to strike at its legs with their swords and Leonie and Lorenz scrape their lances against its sides. Bernadetta fires arrow after arrow at its head as she quakes in her boots, still sobbing. She keeps walking backward, further and further away from it.

Claude takes out a different arrow. Where an arrowhead should be, instead it’s a bulbous cloth tied tightly around the wooden shaft. It smells like some kind of oil. Like something a blacksmith would use to clean weapons.

“Mercedes!” he calls out to her. “Think you can light this up for me once it’s in the air? Just as it crests?”

“I’ll try!” she says, already harboring a flame in her palm. “But what is it going to—”

Soldiers scream at the forefront when the monster pounds on the floor. Everyone is thrown off balance, including the horses. Crimson threads of energy burst all around the pedestal of those closest to the beast, some of them ripping through stone and—

_No, no they’re too close. My class is too close! Everyone is—!_

Ignatz’s screams of agony as the first thread cuts straight through his torso has Byleth screeching in horror. Never before has she heard such a ghastly sound burst from her lungs. And if she didn’t feel it in her chest, she would’ve thought it came from someone else.

The world ripples, and becomes awash with inverted colors as the current time shatters to a halt. She can’t move from where she’s slumped on the ground, but she can see where everyone else currently is.

Byleth’s pulse is racing. But it’s not the adrenaline she usually gets from fighting or sparring. It’s sluggish as it flows through her and threatens to suffocate like tar being poured into every crevice of her soul.

For the first time since she started teaching months ago, one of her students has died.

She surveys the room. Half of each melee battalion have been decimated by the crimson threads, including the mercenaries. Felix and Petra are the furthest away from her. Their legs are injured from their fall and the very edge of the tendrils cuts through their flesh. Leonie has lost her horse and winces in pain as another thread scrapes at the surface of her back. Lorenz has blood dripping from his head as he lays next to his steed.

A few of the monks in Marianne’s battalion have been run through with the crimson threads as she looks at them in horror next to pools of blood. Most of her other students are unconscious on the floor, perhaps because they hit their heads on the stone. Sylvain is in the midst of falling off of Nyx again, his lance slipping out of his grasp. She feels like if he makes that landing, his neck will undoubtedly snap.

Claude is the closest to her, gritting his teeth as he holds his nose which is bleeding profusely. He must’ve fallen face-first onto the ground.

They’re not going to make it like this. They need another plan. She didn’t know the black beast had an attack waiting.

Assess and adapt. Just like her father taught her. She can rewind time, and Ignatz will be right as rain. And so will her other students, who are most likely now—no, but if she reverses time then they won’t be… they won’t be…

_Calm down. Calm down, Byleth. You can do this. What have you learned about your enemy?_

The monster will become dazed if its barriers are broken. It takes a few hits to break them. Barriers are divided according to the anatomy on its body. With inverted colors, she can see it clearer. Its torso has three pieces. Two on either side, and one below. Its limbs are all one piece each, and its tail has none. Its head and neck also share a barrier. Its belly has no defensive scales. That has to be its weak point.

Seven pieces in total. Vulnerable underside. They have to kill it there.

Its cracked fang she yanked off lays on the floor to the wayside, near Sylvain. The Gautier Crest enhances strength; that’s what she remembers from Hanneman’s ramblings. So do a few others, along with additional assistive properties.

Okay, this could work. Her students with Crests will be essential. They’ll have to willingly activate them. Byleth doesn’t like making them use Crests; she wants them to train and succeed by their own merits without Crest activation. But there aren’t any other options here.

She winds back time, watching as everyone moves in reverse. Weapons slip back into their hands. Wounds close up and heal, the blood pouring back into their bodies instead of spilling onto the ground beneath them. Ignatz is on his feet again, without a gaping hole through his middle. Further and further she winds until she stops, just as Claude is telling her about the barriers. Time is sucked back to where she wants it to be, and the world’s colors are restored to normal.

_Do it again. Try this approach. Make it count, so no one has to die…._

“You see what I’m—”

“The barrier. Yeah. We need to break them,” she says, cutting him off. “It has seven total. But the most crucial one is its stomach area. We need to strike it there. Somehow get it to stand on its hind legs again so we have a shot. Once it’s broken, we need to pierce right through it.”

“Wow, you’ve already got a plan! That’s our Teach!”

“Use your combustible arrow when I tell you to. I’ll have Mercedes light it on fire as it’s soaring in the air.”

Claude blinks at her. “How did you—”

“Everyone!” she calls to her class, and waits for them all to scramble around her. They only have a few minutes before the monster unleashes its attack again. They need to kill it within this short time slot. “The monster’s belly is the only place without defensive scales or ligaments. But it has a barrier-like coating on its skin, divided up based on the regions of its body.”

She points to the shimmering substance along its hide. “See that side? It’s broken, and that’s why it’s dazed. We need to break all the barriers to keep it like that until we can force it onto its hind legs.”

Byleth rushes over to the discarded fang, using the sword’s whip to grab it and bring it back to her. It lands in front of her with a heavy thud. “Raphael, pick this up.”

He does so without question, and then she takes Sylvain’s lance from the weapon loop on the horse’s saddle. “We’re going to use this.” She holds it out with a steady grip. “Jam the wide bottom part onto the point.”

“Okay, Professor.” Raphael gives a battle cry and shoves the fang onto the blade of the lance. It sticks, and doesn’t move at all.

Then she hands it to Sylvain. “I’m sorry to ask this of you,” she starts, “but you need to hurl this at the monster’s belly once we get it in the position we want. You’ll have to activate your Crest so it’ll for sure pierce through the hide. Get a running start with Nyx, and when you’re close enough, toss the lance.”

He’s silent as he takes the weapon, staring at the fang. Byleth adds, “I don’t want you fighting right now. Hang back here, and when I call for you, that’s your chance.”

With only a nod in understanding, Sylvain guides Nyx to the rear of the class. Byleth looks to the other students and says, “As for the rest of you, this is what we’ll do.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sylvain can’t hear anything Byleth is telling the class from where he’s waiting. And then they’re all dispersing into their assigned formations.

Felix, Petra, Leonie, and Lorenz charge ahead, each one helping the knights and the mercenaries break the barriers on the beast’s legs. Ashe and Bernadetta are off on either side, shooting arrow after arrow into the creature’s torso. Raphael and Hilda charge forward when the beast’s jaw threatens to chomp down on some cavalry. He knocks its head away with his gauntlets and she slices through the barrier with her axe. There are brief flashes of Crest activation from several of his classmates every so often.

Ignatz and Claude are a few feet behind Byleth, their bow’s already drawn and ready to shoot. Claude’s arrow is padded with some kind of pouch though, and Mercedes stands next to him as a rune for the Fire spell starts to manifest in front of her. Marianne, her battalion, and Linhardt are behind them, casting Physic and other helpful spells on their more injured allies. Lysithea stands in front of Byleth, her arms outstretched, a golden rune hovering in front of her.

The barriers on the beast’s legs shatter, and it roars, swaying to and fro. When its head is low enough, Raphael and Hilda give a battle cry as they slice an uppercut in unison, directly under its chin. The black beast rises just a little, enough that its forelegs are off the ground, and that’s when Claude shoots his arrow, with Mercedes’ flaming spell sailing after it.

It explodes in the air, just before its face, and the creature topples backward. Lysithea casts a brilliantly illuminated spell that Sylvain has never seen before. They vaguely look like swords and feathered wings of light that pierce the barrier on the beast’s belly, causing the whole thing to crack and fragment, but not burst just yet. The vague forms push the monster back, almost like pins.

Byleth whips her Relic forward and it coils around the beast’s upper neck, snapping taut as it’s kept there, wobbling on its hind legs. Ignatz shoots an arrow at the biggest crack on the barrier (he vaguely hears him say something about painting), and then it shatters completely on impact.

“Go, Sylvain!” Byleth cries at the top of her lungs, her head only partially turned over her shoulder to call at him.

Sylvain squeezes his legs against Nyx’s sides and she charges forward, faster and faster.

He whirls past the healers, past Byleth and her little group, past Raphael and Hilda, and closer and closer to Felix and the three others. From his peripherals he sees Bernadetta and Ashe scrambling away. Something red begins to bubble underneath the beast, and that’s when he hears Byleth scream at him again.

“You need to do it NOW, Sylvain!” and for a second, he thinks he hears the slightest bit of fear in her voice.

Their professor, the Ashen Demon. Sounding scared. Is it for him? Or for the rest of the class? He doesn’t know, and doesn’t really care right now. There’s a numbing sense of calm washing over him, and he’s unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad one.

When he throws his arm back over his shoulder, he can’t help the angry cry that slips past his mouth as he hurls the lance forward, just as the Gautier Crest glows in front of him in its suffocating light.

The weapon pierces the monster’s belly, making a sickening squelch. It tears through the weird ligaments there, almost like muscle fibers. The lance dives deep into its flesh and nearly disappears except for the butt end of the shaft.

A deafening, guttural yowl booms throughout the space around them. Byleth’s sword recoils when the crimson substance disappears, leaving the black beast to stagger on its hind legs. The monster thrashes its neck once, drool pouring out of its maw. Its roar dies to a snarl and then a growl, before fading away into a haunting distortion of Miklan’s voice. Weak, and lasts only for a few seconds.

Everyone scatters away from it as it falls forward, slamming hard onto the stone. Its red eyes stare at Sylvain, the only one who refused to move even after Byleth called at him to get back. The glowing orbs focus on him until they fade into the abyss of the sockets, leaving only an oblivion of darkness.

The black and crimson substance envelopes the carcass until it completely dissolves. A human body is left behind, so minuscule in comparison to the beast of malice that it had become moments before. The Lance of Ruin glows for only a moment before it fades again, and falls still.

Sylvain dismounts Nyx and walks closer. He crouches in front of Miklan, ignoring the footsteps behind him that stop just a ways from where he can’t see. He puts two fingers to the man’s neck, finding no pulse. His eyes are closed, brow relaxed, mouth slightly open. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen him without a scowl directed his way.

His hand is still holding onto the Relic.

All of this hatred, all of this violence, over a stupid. Fucking. Crest.

“Miklan…. My brother….”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


No one says anything, or moves from where they stand. She’s not sure if it’s because they’re still trying to calm down from their frenzy, or don’t know what words will soothe Sylvain from what just happened.

Byleth walks over to him, strapping the sword on her back. Sylvain stays crouched in front of his brother.

What is she even supposed to say to him? ‘If there was another way, we would’ve taken it’? ‘Good job on killing your brother after he turned into a demonic creature’? ‘At least you tried’? There isn’t a single combination of words that would be comforting right now.

“Sylvain,” she starts softly, “how do you want to proceed from here?”

He uncurls the fist still clamped to the Lance of Ruin. Standing up, he takes a moment to stare at it. Glare, really. “Take it.”

“It’s not mine to—”

“I don’t want it, Professor. This… _thing_, that turned Miklan into that creature. It’s not right.” He looks at the blade. Like her own Relic and that of Catherine’s, it’s made of bone. The little spikes on it make it look like a miniature spine of some sort.

He stiffens when the spikes twitch ever so slightly, as if alive.

“This _weapon_ isn’t right. You saw that, didn’t you? Just now.”

“You won’t turn into a monster, Sylvain,” she says, ignoring his comment. The Sword of the Creator pulses lightly at her back. “Unlike Miklan, you can wield it safely.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute. Then Byleth asks, “What would you like to do with his body? We need to burn the others to prevent a disease from spreading. But we can take it back to Margrave Gautier if you’d like.”

Sylvain shakes his head. He doesn’t look at her, stare focused on the lance. “No. Burn it with the rest. My father hasn’t genuinely cared about Miklan for a long while. And like I said, he’s no longer my brother. Just a common thief. A vile, unremorseful, criminal.”

He takes the lance with him and yanks out an extra thin blanket from underneath Nyx’s saddle. He wraps it around the strange blade of the Relic. Takes the belt loop from his missing initial iron lance and uses it to secure the cloth.

With Nyx’s reins in his other hand, he guides her over back to everyone else. Byleth follows, turning around just to make sure Miklan is really dead. No need for surprise attacks from a corpse.

Going to Gilbert, Sylvain presents the Lance of Ruin. “Mission completed.”

“Yes,” the older man agrees slowly, “although that is an understatement. Goddess above, I have never seen such a creature before. I’m not even sure where to begin about what just transpired. But I think you should hold onto it, Lord Sylvain. This Relic is your birthright. Its retrieval is proof of your progress in your knightly training.”

His grip tightens again on the lance as his jaw sets. Before he can retort, Byleth slips careful hands over the shaft. She doesn’t yank it away. Merely holds onto it, her hands over his. Sylvain looks at her with mild surprise before letting it go. When he just stares at the floor, she reaches out a hand to his cheek where he’s cut. Her white magic slowly heals it as she traces a gentle path with her thumb along his skin. He meets her eyes, searching for something, before he turns away again.

“Sylvain doesn’t need to fret over something like this right now,” she says, moving her hand away. “I’ll watch it until we can deliver it to Lady Rhea. In the meantime, we should dispose of the bodies. Letting them rot here isn’t a good idea with a village so close. We also need to find those kidnapped women, and bring them home.”

“And what of Miklan?” Gilbert asks.

Byleth pauses. “I’ve spoken with Sylvain about it. And he’s decided—after everything that’s happened—that his corpse should be burned along with the others. Miklan has no home to return to, and the church doesn’t do burial ceremonies for criminals. We also have all of these witnesses to attest to Miklan’s death should Lady Rhea ask about it.”

“Very well.” Gilbert cleans the blood off of his axe against the long tunic of his under armor. Then he stows the weapon on his back. “Professor, we’ll handle things from here. Take your students back to the camp. You all deserve to rest after what’s happened.”

He calls for Lysithea’s battalion to assist before walking past her to start the fire.

“That was really… um…,” Ignatz starts, “s-scary. But we made it out alive.”

Her breath catches in her throat as he smiles at her. Soft brown eyes tucked behind his huge circular glasses. Cheeks still a little rounded from the last lingering of pre-pubescence. Such an innocent face, like Claude had once called it. Angelic, and pure. Tries his best even with his lack of confidence, but she knows he doesn’t try harder than when he’s painting or drawing, with such a content look on his young face.

And to remember the way that same face contorted in pain and horror as the crimson thread pierced through his torso, blood staining his clothes and the stone beneath him—no, he didn’t make it. Not in that the other thread of time. He was the first to die, and she’s sure half of her class would’ve followed. Maybe Felix and Petra next, being so close to the monster. Or the others who were seemingly unconscious.

She drops the lance just as he says, “Professor, you managed to get us through it. Your plan was really—ah?! P-Professor?!”

He’s frozen where he stands as she brings him into a tight hug, one arm around his back, the other reaching up to cradle his head from behind with her hand. Her focus is steady on the ground. She can feel his rapid heartbeat against her chest. He’s so young, and so small. Barely taller than her. Never again will she let him die. Let any of her students suffer that misfortune.

Byleth gets a few weird looks from her other students, and then she’s pulling away from him as if shocked with lightning. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just… well,” there’s no way to explain to them how she ‘fixed’ this current timeline, “I was just… scared. Too. About losing any of you.”

“O-Oh!” His cheeks are a vivid shade of pink. “Well y-yeah that’s uh, that’s understandable.”

“I’m sorry for hugging you so suddenly, Ignatz. It won’t happen again.”

“Ah, n-no I’m not angry or anything! I was just surprised,” he says with a weak embarrassed laugh.

“So Ignatz gets a hug but we don’t?” Claude says lightly, maybe to brighten the mood. “I think we all deserve a hug right now. We did just go through some… trials, and a few more of us are still shaken up. We too should get our daily physical comfort from our dear Teach, don’t you think?”

“We need to get back to the camp—”

“C’mon, a group hug. Without all the pointy weapons,” he tries again, opening his arms.

“I vote for this group hug,” Hilda says, dropping her axe. “And I think you owe us one, Professor. So, I’m gonna take my share first.”

She throws her arms around her, and then Claude hugs them both from behind Byleth. Bernadetta is next to latch herself onto her professor, crying about how scared she was, and then Linhardt is following after making a comment about pillows and then everyone is clustering together. Hilda pulling Marianne in with her who tugs on Ignatz and Lysithea shoves herself between them, pouting. Leonie and Raphael are next with the latter yanking Lorenz into it despite his protests. Petra and Ashe have a vice grip on Felix who complains about physical contact until he’s added into their little ball of comfort, squeezed between Raphael’s right arm and against his side.

Mercedes is last, taking Sylvain’s hand and pulling him along until their warmth is added to the quilt of comfort made up of their peers.

“Okay,” Byleth says after a minute or so. The sinking feeling in her gut fades away to nothingness. In this timeline, her students are alive. All of them. She doesn’t need to worry about what had happened any longer. It’s in the past, never to be revisited. “This group hug was nice.”

“See, Teach?” Claude starts. His cheek rests on top of her head to the right. “We’re hugging it out. All our anxieties from the last battle are just washing away. I feel better already. Don’t you?”

Byleth hums. “This was a good idea.” At the comment, she feels the hugs tighten around her. She could get used to this.

Claude chuckles. “Would I _ever_ suggest a bad one?”

“Yes,” Lorenz immediately replies from somewhere behind her.

“You can’t be a sour puss in the group hug, Lorenz. Otherwise you gotta get out. So shoo,” to which Lorenz sputters and starts to protest about how he should still be allowed in.

“I’m _suffocating_,” Felix complains. “And we need to get back to the camp. Let go of me already, Raphael.”

“Aww c’mon! This is nice!”

Byleth agrees that they do need to get back to camp, so the group hug disbands. Bernadetta is still clinging to her arm once everyone is gone. “C-Can we go home n-now? I don’t wanna think about that… well you know! I’m gonna have nightmares….”

“Yes, Bernadetta. Let’s get going.”

They pick up their weapons and begin to head back out of the spiral. Along the way, they spot a lone pegasus hiding behind a pillar. The only one remaining from their earlier battle. Leonie is the first to approach it, carefully, taking its reins and soothing it with words Byleth can’t hear. As she guides it back to them, it tucks its feathery wings tight against its body. It walks alongside the other horses, about a size bigger than the earth-bound steeds.

“We can’t leave her here,” Leonie reasons. “Her rider’s gone, but I’m sure she’ll find a home in the monastery.”

Marianne nods. “I-I agree. This pegasus is domesticated, so she might not survive in the wild….”

“That’s fine. She can graze once we get back to camp,” Byleth replies.

And so they add the pegasus to their little return party. Leonie stays on foot, guiding the airborne animal with her own horse, its reins in her other hand. Linhardt and Bernadetta more than eagerly agreed to ride on the latter meanwhile since they’re too tired to keep walking on foot.

When they get back to camp, they report in to the other soldiers about Gilbert and the remaining knights. By late afternoon, almost evening, they return, having dealt with the bodies and successfully rescued all the missing women. They’ve also excavated any of the resources Miklan’s crew had stolen from the village, and vow to return them tomorrow. The women are looked over by some of the healers, and Byleth doesn’t need to ask what happened to them. She already has a dreadful idea of it, a scenario that is partially why Jeralt helped her become a skilled combatant. Another hunting party is organized for the dinner, and soon the evening fades away into the next day.

After returning what Miklan had plundered, Byleth’s class, the knights, and their new pegasus friend start the journey home. The winged creature never strays far from them, always hovering just above the company. Byleth guesses she was trained to follow alongside grounded horses and marching humans.

They’ve been traveling for a few days now, having left behind most of the Kingdom’s territories. It’s drizzled on and off, but no storms. As the Oghma Mountains finally start coming into view on the edge of the horizon, they run into familiar faces on the dirt road.

“Well lookie here. Byleth! Hey! You all done with your mission?”

“Catherine,” she greets when the woman smiles at her. Behind her are several battalions of knights, and a heavily guarded carriage. It has the emblem of the Church of Seiros on its side. “What are you doing in the Kingdom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This battle was actually based on my first run when I came to this map. Ignatz died (as did Byleth) because I wasn't prepared for Monster Miklan. I played on Normal-Casual, thankfully, because I like enjoying the story without worrying every turn which wrong move will permanently kill my units. Lol
> 
> I was afraid I made Miklan too despicable when I first wrote out this draft. Until I found out that with the Ashen Wolves DLC, Yuri's monastery/explore dialogue of Chapter 5 mentions Miklan "kidnaps women" which has pretty blatant implications.... I checked for myself, as I had first seen this note randomly in a YT comment section on a FE3H video; fandom tends to exaggerate a lot of things. Although, in this case, it ended up being true. Yikes. 😬 A horrible coincidence that my take on his awfulness is actually canon.... Sylvain, your brother is an actual piece of human garbage. I know a part of you feels bad he died because he's your family, but he's utter trash!! You deserved a much better brother who didn't keep trying to kill you for several years just for existing!! Sweetie I'm so sorry!!
> 
> The amount of violence and gore I put into this battle is making me wonder if I should up the rating of this fic to M a little earlier; I didn't want to change it until we reached the time-skip. Feel like a handful of the following battle scenes after this plot point might also be this brutal. But some pre-timeskip chapters in the future might have somewhat suggestive content when it concerns certain character relationships and interactions. (No sex scenes are going to happen until post-timeskip, however. I'm still firm on that decision of mine.) Right now this story is T+, in my opinion, but I'd rather be accurate with the rating. As I'm just the author, however, my bar for what constitutes the difference between T and M might not align with the readers. So, what do you all think? I want to give this fic an appropriate rating for safety, but I'm having a hard time deciding if I'm being too cautious, or not enough. Anyway, I'll stop there, since I don't want another super long Author's Notes.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	32. XXXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Sylvain faces off against Miklan alone. His brother taunts him about his classmates to distract him, but it doesn't truly get under Sylvain's skin until he insinuates horrible things toward Byleth. He's able to get the upper hand then with a surprise Nosferatu spell, but when Miklan refuses to stand down, the Lance of Ruin takes the battle into its own hands. It transforms him against his will into a horrific monster that has neither friend nor foe. Byleth uses the Sword of the Creator to drive the creature back, but everyone is eventually needed to confront it. She's forced to use Divine Pulse when a ranged surprise attack kills Ignatz, at least half of their company, and potentially her other students. In the end, she comes up with a plan to kill it, with Sylvain dealing the final blow. Though her whole class survived this second try, the experience unearthed genuine fear in her for the first time in her life. With the Relic retrieved, Byleth and the others make the return trip home through the Kingdom, and eventually run into Catherine and the Knights of Seiros along the way.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXII ⧽  
  
Rest on the Road

In the next clearing, Byleth and her company join up with Catherine and the Knights of Seiros to make camp. Surprisingly, Shamir and Cyril are also within their ranks, and it’s soon that Byleth finds out why. Rhea is here, which is the reason for the ornate carriage. Though going in different directions, both parties agreed to spend just one day resting together. More for Byleth’s class than anything else.

Catherine tells her they’re on their way to the Western Church. Their investigation into the attempted assassination of Rhea led them to the discovery that the current bishop of that branch had organized the whole thing. Apparently, he was so assured that his particular doctrine was the true one, and not the Central Church’s, that he wanted Rhea gone from influence so as not to further ‘taint’ the faith. And by that, he partially meant the inclusion of ‘outsiders’ into the care of Garreg Mach. Individuals who don’t believe in the goddess, despite Rhea telling her it matters not, so long as they don’t disrespect the divine Mother, as she calls her.

“We cannot have such ignorance run rampant in our faith,” she says simply, “especially if it endangers the well-being of all who come to the monastery for rest or shelter.”

“And so, we have to deal with him,” Catherine concludes. They, along with Rhea, are currently resting in the latter’s tent. It’s the largest one with makeshift areas for dining, having tea, and Rhea’s sleeping quarters. “But like a coward, he and his loyalists fled the church once they got wind of our journey. They’ve made their nest somewhere in the Brionic Plateau, which is in Empire territory, just outside the border of Faerghus.”

“Professor,” Rhea starts, “I know I am asking much of you, especially after what you’ve been through in Conand Tower. But I would like it if you would accompany us on this task. Your students do not need to participate; I know it must have been emotionally and physically taxing for them to go through what they did. But…”

She places her hands on top of the Lance of Ruin that’s laying horizontally in her lap. “Well, you managed to retrieve this Relic all the same thanks to your combined efforts. As for the…,” she lowers her voice, “monster, that Miklan turned into, I must ask that you and your students not spread the word. It would not bode well if the people of Fódlan no longer trust the nobles with protecting them, knowing that Crest-less individuals run the high risk of becoming mindless beasts. It is why I sent you, specifically, since there was a probability this might happen. You wielding the Sword of the Creator was our best chance at limiting the damage done.”

“Lady Rhea, are you suggesting that you… knew this might happen?”

The woman looks down at the weapon. She doesn’t say anything for a solid minute. “There have been tales of unworthy wielders turning into monsters when attempting to use a Relic’s power. It is information only passed on to a select few, like the archbishops of the Seiros faith. And, of course, their most trusted companions.”

Before Byleth can ask her why the hell she didn’t tell her this sooner, Rhea adds, “It is not that I do not trust you, Professor. I simply—”

“Was testing me? To see how well I can improvise?”

Rhea looks at her now. “No, I had simply hoped this scenario would be avoided. There had not been reports of Miklan transforming into a monster before, so, I had just made an ill assumption that he was an anomaly to the tales. Or that, the tales were false. For that, I apologize. But despite how absurd such a reality might seem, it is still prudent that this incident be kept private.”

She’s too tired to argue with Rhea about it more, so she doesn’t. “It’s not something my students want to think upon,” Byleth starts. “But we weren’t the only witnesses. My father’s mercenaries, our three hired battalions, and Gilbert’s men were also all there. That’s a lot of people who will have to keep this a secret.”

“I am aware, and as such, I have already mentioned this to Gilbert and those other souls. Likewise, it should be you who tells Jeralt’s mercenaries and your class.”

There’s something not right about this, but Byleth can’t put her finger on it. She doubts the archbishop would just assume something like this wouldn’t happen, especially when she’s sending the new teacher and their class to gamble their chances that they won’t be eaten or pulverized by a demonic creature.

Rhea looks at her with a serene smile. “Gilbert also told me of how you wielded the Sword of the Creator in battle. It sounds like you are beginning to understand how to properly utilize its power.”

“I’m trying,” she says honestly. “But I still need practice with it.”

“That’s where I come in,” Catherine mentions. “Our training session with the Relic is long overdue. We’ll be here for about another day until our scouts return and tell us the road to our next check point is clear.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could help me, yes.”

“Then I’ll meet up with you at the front of the camp in about an hour. In the meantime, talk to your class. They don’t need to have an answer on the spot, but before we head out would be optimal.”

She’s excused after that. Byleth returns to the large tent that they’re borrowing as a makeshift ‘classroom’. It’s big enough to function as a shared sleeping space (divided by a sheet for privacy between the boys and girls) so the mercenaries and battalions have their own tents to rest in.

Everyone is there when she arrives. They’re all lounging on cots or beds made out of hay and leaves, covered by a blanket. Claude gives her a friendly wave from where he’s perched on top of a crate.

“Hey, Teach.” At the name, the rest of the class notices her and mumble their own greetings. “How’d the meeting go with her holiness?”

“Fine. I gave her the Lance of Ruin, and told her about what happened at Conand Tower. She’s asked me to tell you all to keep what we saw there a secret.”

“Meaning the monster,” Sylvain clarifies.

The space is silent, and Byleth nods. “Yes. She said people would lose faith in the nobles’ abilities to protect them if they find out they can turn into a creature while using a Relic without a Crest.”

“Oh, believe me Professor,” Leonie says with an eyeroll, “lots of us common folk already don’t have the highest opinion of nobles. Them turning into literal monsters is kinda on the nose.”

“I can assure you not all of the nobility are figurative beasts,” Lorenz defends. “While there are those who don’t deserve the status, there are also those who try their best to guide the people they’re responsible for.”

“Name one, Lorenz.”

“Myself, of course.”

“You’re still a far ways away from taking over for your dad. So until that day comes—and until you can prove to me you really aren’t like the rest of ‘em—I’m gonna keep my opinion.”

“In any case,” Byleth cuts in because Lorenz looks like he wants to argue, “Lady Rhea asked us for discretion, so we should do just that. I also don’t want any of you ruminating over that horrible experience. Or, at the very least, try not to. Easier said than done, I know.”

She sits down on her own cot. Draping her arms over her knees, she says, “You all did great work during that mission. But if you need to talk about what happened,” she avoids looking at Sylvain, “then I’m here. Although, only for another day. There’s a possibility you might all have to return to Garreg Mach on your own, with Gilbert and the others.”

Almost immediately questions spring up from everyone about why she won’t be coming with them. So, Byleth gives them her reasons. She explains what Rhea had asked of her, and why the Knights of Seiros were out traveling in the first place with the archbishop. That her class has the option to join her, but it’s not at all mandatory. And that she’d honestly prefer if they didn’t come with.

“You’ve all been through a lot,” she adds, “and you deserve to rest. I don’t know who will be substituting for me, but, I’ll let them know in a letter not to give you homework or quizzes, at least until I return. You still need to keep up with your studies and training, but you’ve all more than earned some reprieve.”

“Professor,” Mercedes starts when everyone has settled down, “while I’m sure your class will like not having work to do, don’t you think you deserve some rest as well? You also went through a lot, trying to keep us all safe.”

“Lady Rhea requested I go; I won’t be able to relax for a while. I’m actually going to practice with the Sword of the Creator soon, but I’d like you all to just stay here and get some down time. Maybe sleep if you can.”

Byleth stands up. “None of you need to come to a decision now, but sometime before the end of tomorrow, I’ll need to know. Just think on what I said. Your injuries also need time to heal as well. I’ll be around the camp for the rest of the day if you need me. I have to go tell my father’s mercenaries they can head back with Gilbert too. And remember, don’t go chatting about what happened at Conand Tower where others can hear.”

She hesitates by the tent flap, staring at the canvas before turning around. “Sylvain, I’d like to talk to you privately. Can you follow me, please?”

He gets up without a word. She takes them to the opposite end near a tree, across the ways from where their tent is. “It’s been a few days since our battle, so, I wanted to know if you’re okay.”

“Doing fine, Professor,” he says all too quickly.

“That’s… good, but I can only assume that Miklan was taunting you ruthlessly as you were fighting him. I couldn’t hear what you two were arguing about, but, if you need to vent, I’m here for that.”

“While I appreciate it, Professor, there’s honestly nothing to talk about. Miklan’s out of my life permanently, and I don’t need to bother with him anymore.”

“Okay, but, if you ever need a shoulder to—”

“Yeah, I know. Yours is perfect to lay my head on,” he says with a wink, although his smile isn’t as wide as it usually is when he flirts with her. “Anyway, I’m gonna take some time to catch a nap. Think about whether or not I wanna go with you on this side mission. I’ll see you later, Professor. Thanks for asking if I’m okay.”

He gives her a wave before he’s walking away, and heads back into the tent. Though it’s obvious this incident did affect him more than he’s willing to admit, Byleth doesn’t want to push him to lock away his emotions even deeper.

She hopes he, along with her other students, will choose to return to Garreg Mach. They’ve seen and participated in enough violence already. She knows the Officers Academy is for training soldiers, and so eventually they’ll need to understand how to kill. But her class has gone on the most dangerous missions out of all the ones in the academy, that she knows of so far. They’re just kids, at the end of the day.

_You are also a child, Byleth._

_Technically, a child is someone who is younger than 13. I’ll be 21 this year._

_Do not act as if you don’t know what I meant! You are still a youth!_

_But I did this for a living. If I can keep my students out of unnecessary violence, then I will._

_That does not mean you yourself have to keep doing it. And I know you are also exhausted. I can feel it in your bones, and in your mind._

_This is a request from Rhea herself. And she’s not requiring me to bring my class, like I have to on normal assignments. I’ll take the little victories._

Sothis sighs.

_Sometimes, I wonder, had you not been a mercenary…_

_What?_

_It is nothing. I suppose I am just… curious, to see what your life would have been like if you were also a student. Able to frolic about with other youths, go on leisurely trips, just do things people your age normally do. I guess in a way, I lament what could have been, in another life. Had certain things not happened so this is not the path you would have to walk._

_There’s no use thinking about stuff like that. This is the timeline I’m in now, and I can’t rewind time that far._

_Well I know that! But you cannot blame me for wanting… something better for you, I suppose. I know how much you adore and care for your students, but you should be with them as classmates. Not their instructor. It is still absurd to me that Rhea would give you such a huge responsibility without the proper experience. You’re still so young, Byleth, and yet, look at all you have had to endure so far._

This sounds a lot like what Jeralt had told her before. Contemplating if he made the right choice. Making her a mercenary, like him. She wonders if he had any deep regrets leaving the monastery with her all those years ago.

But the way Sothis says it, not as aloof, more direct, and yet softer at the same time, is…

_Yes, I suppose I do sound like a parent. A mother, perhaps._

_Ah, is that what it is?_

_I am not your mother, Byleth. More like your keeper since you continue to prove to me you need your hand held, even as a young lady. _

_What happened to me being a child?_

_In this argument, you are now an adult who needs another, _older_ adult to watch out for your youthful follies. Like back at the tower. Just what were you thinking wasting precious seconds being entranced by Claude?_

_I wasn’t—_

Sothis laughs.

_Oh, yes you were. It was amusing, but absolutely the wrong place and time._

_That’s not what happened. I was just a little surprised he’d just… throw himself into danger like that. Against an unknown enemy. And when I’m the only one on the battlefield. He’s my partner, sure, but he’s still my student who I need to protect._

_He has the tendency to gravitate toward you, I’ve noticed. And you were mopey when you two had that argument._

_Why do people keep saying that? That’s not how I was feeling._

She gets another laugh in response.

_I am awaiting the day when it happens. It will be glorious indeed._

_When what happens?_

“Professor?”

She shakes her head a little, and brings herself back to her other senses. Cyril is there, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “You okay? Ya look a little tired. Kind of spaced out, even, I’d say.”

“Yes, I’m fine Cyril.” In his arms is a bundle of wood. For someone so young, he sure does a lot of work. Sothis snorts in the back of her mind. “It’s strange to see you so far away from the monastery.”

“Well I wanted to help Lady Rhea however I could. Shamir has been training me in the bow and stuff, but she says I’m not ready yet to fight.” He huffs. “So, whenever we do find those Western Church people, I gotta hang back here. Keep the camp clean and organized.”

Byleth nods. “You’re a very diligent worker, Cyril. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Fourteen. Why?”

“Lady Rhea seems to be pretty fond of you. I’m sure if you asked her, you could enroll at the Officers Academy in a year or two.”

“Ah, well,” he says, not meeting her eyes, “book work isn’t for me. I don’t think I’m smart enough for that stuff.”

“I can help you if you’d like. Since I’ll be teaching here for the foreseeable future. I don’t know if I’ll still be a Golden Deer professor, but whatever house my next class belongs to, you’re welcome to join.”

At least it’d be better than him doing manual labor. He could probably develop some other skills if given the chance. Then he could leave the monastery and work elsewhere, or at least be employed as a knight to a good noble family.

“I’ll, uh, think about it, Professor,” he says. “Anyway, I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you around.” He leaves without waiting for her to say anything in response, walking away quicker than she’s ever seen him.

_Maybe he doesn’t _want_ to go to school._

She decides to leave aside that thought for now and tell Jeralt’s mercenaries of the situation. They don’t like that she’s being sent off on another assignment just after they finished that ‘crapshoot’ of a last one. And they also don’t like being told to keep their mouths shut about something like this. (A few of them made comments, however, about their non-surprise that they have to keep more ‘secrets’ for the nobility’s sake—that it’s not much different when they were given less savory assignments by the assumed prim and proper.) But they ultimately agree to travel back to the monastery with Gilbert and her class.

With that out of the way, and the Sword of the Creator strapped on her back, Byleth waits for Catherine at the edge of camp. Only for a few minutes, anyway. Her coworker soon greets her with a friendly wave and smile, but then it falls when she points her thumb over her shoulder to Linhardt who is trying (and failing) at catching up to her brisk walking speed.

“Linhardt, for the last time, no,” Catherine says. “This isn’t a jousting match. Relics are dangerous, and until your professor properly wields it, you can’t watch.”

He leans against a tree, trying to catch his breath. Byleth notices he has a book, quill, and inkwell with him. “Please, I just—ugh, why does everyone around here move so fast,” he wheezes. Once he’s finally found the air in his lungs, he looks to Byleth.

“Professor, we were in the middle of severe danger back at the tower, so I couldn’t properly analyze the sword. But now that you’ll be training, _please_—I am _literally_ saying please—allow me to spectate. I won’t get in the way.”

As he holds his forehead with a hand, he adds, “It’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, but Catherine was making me run around so much that I don’t care anymore. I just want to watch. I won’t be naïve like Claude and sneak up on you. I’ll keep a fair distance, and even hide myself behind a tree as a precaution.”

She really doesn’t want him there. But all things considered, Linhardt anticipates what he’s dealing with. And he’s serious about his research that he’s willing to put in more effort than usual. She doesn’t want to rain on his passions.

“Fine,” she replies. “You can watch. From a safe distance. But the moment I think you’re in danger, you’re done. Understand?”

He smiles wide, and nods. “Of course. I’m not so foolish as to squander my few opportunities, Professor, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Well,” Catherine looks between them, “if Byleth is okay with it, then, I guess I can’t tell you ‘no’. But I’ll also make that judgment call if I think you’re in danger, Linhardt. And you better stay far the hell away so we have room to work. Got it?”

“Yes yes, I’ll keep my distance.”

Catherine lets others know where they’ll be heading just in case anyone needs them, although she doesn’t mention they’ll be training with Relics specifically. She doesn’t want more people getting curious and coming to watch.

Linhardt keeps to his word and stays shielded by a thick tree. He peeks out from behind it, quill at the ready with his book open in his lap. Catherine shakes her head at him but doesn’t comment any more on it.

Unsheathing a plain steel sword from where it rests at her hip, she says, “First, I wanna test its durability. See how it fares against a regular weapon, and then a Relic.”

“Okay.” Byleth slips out the blade from where it’s settled in its makeshift leather sheath on her back. The sword isn’t pulsating right now, but she’s sure it’s going to start up again at some point.

Catherine doesn’t give her a warning and goes in for the first strike. Byleth blocks it and shoves her away. She deflects the next several consecutive strikes over and over again. Sometimes the steel sword catches in-between the ridges of the blade and she uses that to try and slip it out of Catherine’s grasp. But she’s too fast and manages to slide it away just in time.

Not that Catherine is an easy opponent by any means, but Byleth is finding that it’s easier to block and parry her attacks now compared to the first time they’ve sparred. On the last strike, however, Catherine twirls away and ducks just as Byleth is about to bring the blade down on the metal weapon.

She finds herself facing the sword point when she recovers.

“You’ve gotten better,” Catherine compliments. “You can keep up with me now. Didn’t even take a nick or a scratch. But I still have the advantage. And it’s not with skill, but confidence.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re afraid of the sword, Byleth.” Catherine sheathes her steel weapon. She pats the hilt of Thunderbrand that rests against her other hip. “In order to properly wield a Relic, you can’t be afraid of it.” In a lower voice, she adds, “What happened to Miklan, won’t happen to you. You have the required Crest.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what is it?”

Byleth hesitates. She stares at the blade, and can feel it pulsating, resonating through her very bones. “When I used it in the last battle, it was fine. Because the enemy was so large, I had a clear range of room to use the whip. But what about in close quarters? I don’t want the whip to slice through my allies or students when I need to use it.”

“Ah, I see. I’m pretty sure in my agility and dexterity, but I gotta be honest and say I’m not confident in you knowing how to control that whip. We’re gonna have to practice the old fashioned way with training dummies. Set up some challenges for you. Unfortunately, that’s gonna have to wait until we get back to the monastery. But we can still test how well it holds up to Thunderbrand in close range. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” she replies with a nod.

Catherine brings out her Relic. It doesn’t glow yet, so she must not be wanting to wield its full power. “The metal weapon didn’t break against your sword. But in my experience, I’ve broken steel lances with _mine_, so there’s your freebie on how to approach me.”

Once again she doesn’t give Byleth a warning, and lunges. She blocks it with her blade and slips away. Catherine continues with a flurry of strikes that Byleth is able to keep up with, but she notices the strikes are faster with this blade than the steel one. A few times, the Sword of the Creator gets caught by the spikes on Thunderbrand and she has to nearly yank it away before Catherine can twist it out of her grip. This is probably how the lancers met their ends, thinking they had the advantage over a closer-ranged melee fighter only to be sorely disappointed.

Byleth gives her own flurry of strikes but Catherine either dodges them easily or deflects them. She keeps striking forward, trying to push Catherine some steps back. But then she angles herself away from the next strike and swoops in low with the Relic, nearly hitting Byleth’s side. She jumps away, and only too late does she realize it’s a feint.

Catherine locks the Sword of the Creator in one of the spikes of Thunderbrand and manages to twist the Relic out of her grasp and onto the ground.

“You’re still a little slow,” Catherine says to her. “You need to get over that fear, Byleth. The whip isn’t gonna come out unless you want it to, I’m assuming.”

“You just have more practice with Thunderbrand,” she replies, picking up the sword.

“That too. I know how to wield this against any kind of weapon, even blast-like magic spells. But that’s only after I stopped questioning myself if I could. I had to believe I did, and when that happened, it became a lot easier to swing.”

“Does it pulsate?”

“Huh?”

Byleth puts her hand on the guard of the Sword of the Creator. “Sometimes, when I’m really in the thick of things, I can feel it pulsate. Like it’s a part of me, somehow. Is that weird?”

The other woman regards her with silence. Then, “Actually, yeah. Now that you mention it, that’s how I feel too when I use Thunderbrand. Like it’s… somehow connected to me on a deeper level than just being ‘my’ Relic. An extension of myself, is how I’d put it. I guess that’s the Crest’s doing.”

Catherine looks at Thunderbrand, her hand siding along the length of the blade. “Though, I’ve always wondered what this thing is made out of. It’s not metal, and anything else I can think of would break, like ceramic. Those times I’ve eaten a big chunk of mutton with the bone still attached—that’s what it feels like. Bone.”

She squints her eyes. “If I imagine real hard, too, it kind of looks… almost anatomical….”

There’s a voice calling out to them. Catherine recognizes him as one of the scouts they had sent out a few days ago, is what she tells Byleth. “I guess we’ll have to cut this training session short. I want to work more on this with you, but you need confidence in wielding the Sword of the Creator if you ever hope to use it beyond close range.”

With a nod, she dismisses herself and walks past Linhardt who starts to bombard her with questions. Catherine shoos him away and leaves with the soldier. Shaking his head, he then looks to Byleth. He probably has a lot of inquiries for her too.

“Did you learn anything?” she asks him once she’s close.

“Yes, actually. Wanna know what I discovered just by observing?”

“Sure.”

They sit down under the base of a tree. Linhardt opens the book on his lap. In it are various notes scribbled down in haste along with surprisingly accurate gestures of both her and Catherine sparring.

“It would’ve been helpful to see you fight with a metal weapon for comparison,” he says, “but from studying Catherine in this regard, I’ve noticed she’s faster with Thunderbrand, despite it being longer and bigger than a steel sword.”

Looking to her belt, he points. “May I weigh the metal sword against the Relic? Just in my hands. I’m not gonna run off with it.”

Very carefully, Byleth watches him as he takes both of the swords, one in each hand. He holds them both up (with some difficulty, she notices), and then sets them down on the grass. Or more like, they nearly fall on the ground.

“Goddess, I don’t know how you carry these heavy things around like they’re twigs….,” he comments. “I’m already tired just by holding them.”

“They’re not heavy to me.”

“That’s because you can snap a man’s spine with your bare hands, Professor. Both you and Catherine.” He slumps against the tree, huffing. “Anyway, like I thought, the Relic is heavier. Yet Catherine was lighter on her feet with her own. Tell me, Professor, does it feel lighter to you when you’re using it? Compared to a metal weapon?”

“It feels more fluid. Like I know where to strike before the thought fully cements in my mind. Like…”

_An extension of myself, just as Catherine said._

“Hmm,” Linhardt jots that down in his notes, “that’s very interesting. What’s even more interesting is how the sword feels. Like bone. And it lives up to its classification of ‘Relic’ since it looks pretty aged too. But as far as I know, bone can’t be crafted into such durable weapons. Unless there’s some kind of spell that created these. And no creature—except maybe a wyvern—has bones this big, or in this shape. I’ll have to reference some fauna texts when we get back to the monastery just to be sure.”

More jotting down of his notes, then he closes the book shut. Yawning, Linhardt sets aside his things. “Well, that’s enough of being productive. You wouldn’t mind if I nap here for a bit, right, Professor?”

“No, I don’t mi—oh. Okay.”

She stares down at him as he plops his head onto her lap. “Bernadetta was saying how warm you are, so I wanted to see for myself. I also like talking to you, since you don’t look at me like I’m mad. Most people do.”

“Why would I think that?”

He shrugs. “People think I’m ‘eccentric’ because of my habits. Going on and on about Crests. Sleeping so much at odd hours of the day, in odd places around the monastery. I’ve even been called cat-like, whatever that means. But I guess they’re not wrong. If I had to liken myself to an animal, I guess a cat would be fitting. Feel free to give me head scratches if you’d like. You have my permission.”

“I don’t think you’re eccentric, Linhardt,” she assures, and goes ahead with his suggestion for head scratches, because why not? “I think you’re just passionate about your interests. Anyone without passion for things like that might always see other people as strange.”

Smiling, he closes his eyes. “And this is why I like you, Professor. I can’t say I like many people to begin with, so you should be proud of yourself.” He rests his hands on his chest, and says, “While I detest fighting, I’m glad that I transferred to your class. I feel like I’m learning more about the stuff I actually care about.”

“You still have to do your assignments. And come to the lectures. I’m not going to bring you your homework and lesson notes again like last time. I let that first instance slide since you were still new to my class.”

He gives a short laugh. “Yes, it won’t happen again, Professor. Hmm, you know, I think if you were an animal, you’d be… a wolf.”

“Why?”

“They’re ferocious when threatened, and sociable creatures by nature.”

“I’m not very social.”

“Ah, you didn’t let me finish,” he says, peeking an eye open. “Wolves either live in packs, or by themselves. But the latter is only temporary. The lone wolf leaves the pack to eventually make their own or join a different one. Much like how you left your father and his mercenaries. Made your own little pack here with your students. Wolves are also caring and devoted to their group, although some would go so far as to refer to it as a ‘family’ unit. That’s you to the letter with our class. Don’t you think?”

Byleth hums in response. She can see that making sense. Although she’s not sure how she’d look like with wolf traits. Though, maybe it’d be fun to turn into a wolf. Hunting would be easier. And she’d be warmer in the winter with all that fur.

“I know we’re a class of the Golden _Deer_,” Linhardt continues, closing his eye again, “but a wolf just suits you best, I think. And it makes sense since wolf packs are generally led by a pair of mates, a male and a female, who teach the younger wolves. That’s kind of like you and Claude, our professor and house leader, responsible for ‘raising’ us. It’s cliché, almost. But I guess that’s why I’m not surprised you two get along so well.”

“Claude and I aren’t mated, Linhardt. That’s also not our relationship. Yes, we need to work together to help you all through the school year, but that’s simply our responsibilities of—Linhardt, are you listening?”

When he doesn’t respond, Byleth guesses he must’ve fallen asleep finally. She wonders how long he’ll nap here. She kind of doesn’t want to wake him, much like the many times Kitty Claude has snoozed in her lap. But eventually, her legs will fall asleep too, and she’ll have to stretch them.

She’s not sure why he made the allusion to her and Claude being wolf pack leaders. A ‘mated’ pair. She very well knows what that means, and that’s not what’s going on. He _is_ her partner, so she can see where Linhardt is coming from metaphorically. But literally? No.

Claude is her second in command. And someone she once considered a friend. Or, still considers a friend, no matter how one-sided the feeling is. Well, being partners is sort of like being friends in a professional setting, is how he described it. Though now more than ever, she’s confused on how much respectable distance she should have with him.

_This would’ve been a lot easier to figure out if I was a student._

Grass crunching underneath footsteps has her glancing up to the sound. Claude approaches her, giving a wave. How strange. Just when she thinks of him, he’s there.

“Aww, the training session ended already?” he asks, sitting down next to her under the shade of the tree.

“Catherine got called away for some business. So I’m just here resting. Linhardt is asleep. He wanted to watch for his Crest research, so we let him. I guess it tired him out.”

He looks down at the napping teen who hasn’t moved a muscle. “Yeah, guess it did. Gee, Teach. How come Lin gets to snooze in your lap? When’s my turn?”

“You get to snooze in my lap in spirit, as Kitty Claude.”

Huffing, he folds his arms across his chest. “He’s still hanging around huh? We gotta find a mate for him or something so he’ll leave you alone.”

“I like Kitty Claude hanging around me. He’s cute. When he sits down on the table as I’m doing work, he looks like a bread loaf. And I like petting him, and giving him head scratches. His purring is nice.”

“Well, I dunno if you’ve noticed, buuut,” he smirks, “I’m also cute, and I would gladly let you scratch my head too. Y’know, that offer from before still stands. I’d be as quiet as a mouse if I got some reasonable affection from our dear professor.”

“You’re not Kitty Claude, and you haven’t been following my instructions lately. So when you do ‘behave’, that might earn you some chin scratches.”

“_Oh_? Is that right?” he asks, smile growing wider as he leans in. His eyes really are such a lovely hue of green. Like a lush forest in the middle of summer. Like the cool, soft moss on rocks near brooks. “And what do I have to do to earn a few winks of sleep on your lap, Teach?”

Linhardt gets up then, startling them both. “Alright, I’m leaving,” he announces, gathering his things. “Can’t nap in peace when you two flirt excessively. Heard enough. Bye.” He doesn’t even look back. Just keeps walking away, giving a big yawn as he goes about the short path back to camp that they can see from here.

They weren’t flirting. At least, that’s not what Byleth intended to do. She was just… trying to be playful. Like how Claude is with her. Now Linhardt is probably assured that they really do act like a ‘mated pair’ of wolves. Are wolves that playful though? Or even affectionate?

It’s also strange how she can feel her pulse quicken, just the slightest bit. _I wonder why that is?_

Claude watches him leave. “Excessively flirting? I was just teasing. He’s absolutely reading this wrong.”

“He is,” she replies, because she doesn’t know what else to say. It’s not like she minded. She likes it when Claude can be casual with her, enough to tease now and again. Comfortable.

“Anyway,” he looks back to her, leaning against the tree trunk like she does, “how did your training with Catherine go?”

“Fine so far. She says I’m slower with the Relic because she thinks I’m afraid of it.”

“Are you?”

Byleth stares at the sword beside her. “I don’t know. I guess I’m concerned that when I try to use the whip, someone might accidentally get sliced up in the process. Catherine said we’ll practice more when we get back to the monastery. Set up an obstacle course for me of some kind.”

“I think that’d be a good idea. You know what else would? If I was there to watch.”

“Claude—”

“Wait, wait, hear me out,” he says, holding up his palms. When she doesn’t reply right away, he drops his hands and continues, “I’m the house leader, and second in command, aren’t I? I think I should get used to seeing how you utilize the whip so I can memorize your fighting habits. If I’m aware of them while you’re wielding the sword on the battlefield, then I’ll be able to work around it so I don’t get in your way. Additionally, that’ll help me come up with maneuvers to make sure the others in our class also don’t get accidentally injured.”

That makes a lot of sense. And she doesn’t know why she didn’t think of it before. “Then, I guess, you can watch from now on.”

He smiles wide, giving a nod. “Thanks, Teach. And I promise to still keep a safe distance.”

She only nods in response, and stares straight ahead. The weather is nice today. It’s not raining, and the clouds in the sky are pure white and fluffy. It’s warm enough outside to need shade, but not hot enough to dread wearing armor or other battle attire. She thinks a day like this would be a nice day for a picnic. Maybe she should give her students a day off to just relax outside, somehow. Perhaps take a weekend camping trip for leisure. Or maybe to the beach. People like beaches.

“Hey, Teach?”

“Yes?” she responds without looking at him.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. It um, concerns my birthday.”

Byleth glances at him, curiosity growing. “What about it?”

Claude scratches the back of his head, not looking at her. He gives a lopsided, half-pout. “I really did like that birthday party you threw for me, but uh, I have to say sometimes your honesty stings. Oddly enough, that’s one of the things I like about you—that you’re so sincere. And your bluntness has a charm to it. But maaaybe give a little warning to a guy before dropping hard truths like that on him, yeah? Next time, I mean.”

“Oh. Did I… Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _hurt_ hurt, but,” he glances at her, “maybe that’s not the best party conversation.”

“Ah, I see.” She continues to make mistakes with this whole ‘friendship’ thing. Of course it’d make sense. A time of merriment isn’t appropriate to do what she did to him. But she can’t take it back because it’s too far in the past to change it.

This might’ve further ruined her chances at real friendship with him. But she wasn’t trying to be mean. She just wanted to be honest, although maybe her nerves got the better of her and she spoke before she properly thought about the right time and place.

She’d never say something like that to any of her other students on their birthdays. Claude isn’t an exception to the rule, even if she wanted to resolve this sooner than later.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “Looking back, I should’ve waited for a different time to tell you. And now it makes sense why you sort of grew quiet for the rest of the night. That wasn’t fair of me to do to you on such a special occasion, and I hope one day you can forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive. I kinda, uh, deserved that for how I treated you. And in a way it’s… fair, to have just sprung that on me. I mean, I didn’t exactly give you a warning when I was being an insensitive ass about your Crest, did I?”

“Guess not.”

“Right. Also, I’m not calling _you_ an insensitive ass, just to clear things up a bit. Just, y’know, I meant we’re even. So, don’t worry about it.”

Byleth traces her fingers along the ridges of the Relic. “I keep making mistakes with trying to understand how to be a friend. I know so little, that sometimes, I think I should just not try at all. And I don’t want to accidentally upset anyone. Did you know? I hung out with Sylvain and his childhood friends to study how they act. But that’s weird of me to have done, and only he knew that’s why I tagged along.”

“Is that what you were doing that whole Sunday before we left?”

“Studying friendship. Yes.” Looking at him again, she says, “I realized that I don’t have bonds like that with anyone. That kind of shared reminiscence, or familiar comfort. And until I learn—until I feel more emotion, I won’t ever develop such ties with anyone either. I don’t know how long it’ll take, on top of that, so the whole thing just feels silly to try so hard at. Not that I care if people think I’m strange, but this will surely repel people from wanting to be around me if I’m just using them as ‘research’.”

Claude smiles, and makes a sound between a huff and a laugh. Byleth keeps staring at him. “Yes, I know it’s laughable, but you don’t actually have to do it.”

“I’m not laughing at you, though. Promise. I’m just,” he shakes his head, smiling wider, “more and more fascinated by you every day. Y’know that, right Teach?”

“You’ve told me before, yeah.”

“Well I’m telling you again.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans further against the tree trunk. “And _me_, of all people, thinking _you’re_ weird? Not possible. I actually want to understand how your mind works, and want to help _you_ understand how it works. And you’re getting better at recognizing emotions too, I’d say.”

That’s true. Just recently, she felt fear for the first time. And hurt. There’s also guilt. And anger from before. But those aren’t things she likes feeling often, and would prefer not to feel again. The only positive feeling she’s had so far is pride in her students when they do well.

But, that’s not entirely true either. That comfortable feeling, when her class hugged her together, like relief pouring over her body—that was a good feeling. And being with Claude now, alone, just talking… well, she doesn’t know if that’s a feeling, really, but she likes it anyway.

“I guess.”

“You could sound a little more confident there, Teach,” he replies lightly.

“A lot of the feelings I’ve experienced so far have been on the negative side, is all.”

Claude gives her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, and I’m uh, partially responsible for that. So, it’s only right I help you experience more positive ones. And I will. When we get back to Garreg Mach, there’ll be many opportunities for us to explore that road.”

Nodding, she says, “I’d appreciate it.”

He keeps smiling at her, but then it falls again. He stares at his lap, tapping his fingers along his knee. “Also, going back to my birthday… what I really wanted to talk about with you wasn’t, uh, advice on when to drop harsh truths on a fella. It’s… something else. You tried so hard to make that party nice, and that heavy conversation we had that day sorta…”

Sighing deeply, he still doesn’t look at her. “My birthday is the 24th of the Blue Sea Moon. Reason I don’t care to celebrate? Something bad always happens to me. Or, more specifically, someone tries to hurt or kill me, whether I’m a stranger, or not.”

Before she can even begin to express her horror, he adds, “That time you found me in town, just as I was going to get tenderized like a pound of meat by those thugs? Yeah, that’s normal for that particular day of the year. But surprisingly wasn’t as bad of a birthday as the ones from my childhood. Would rather get beaten up than suffocate on a throat poison hidden in my food, or have my eyeballs plucked out with a skewer. Now if those boys from back then had really went through with it, well,” he gives an empty laugh, “that would’ve _really_ sucked. Kinda like seeing, honestly. One of my favorite senses. Top two, at most.”

“What? Did those things really happen to you?”

Claude shrugs. “It’s whatever now, really.”

“It shouldn’t just be ‘whatever’, Claude. That’s… That’s so horrible for a child to go through.”

Is this what he meant before? The several attempts on his life, and why making poisons became a ‘necessary’ hobby? To survive multiple assassination attempts on a day that’s supposed to be special? She can’t blame him for not wanting to tell her anything about his birthday. For him, it’s nothing to celebrate. It’s a time to be more alert, to watch for every shadow, and just pretend it’s simply another regular day of the week.

A tally of survival.

“This is what you meant before, wasn’t it?” she starts immediately. “When you told me birthdays aren’t really a thing you celebrate. And that it’s enough to simply know you’ve made it through another year.”

He looks a little surprised. “Wow, you remember that conversation? That particular chat was a while ago.”

“Yes I do, and now it all makes sense. Had I known that your birthdays were tied to childhood trauma, I would’ve never celebrated it. I’m sorry, Claude.”

“Hey, don’t go feeling guilty, okay Teach? Not like you had this info beforehand. I mean, you were right: you _don’t_ know anything about me. So how could it be your fault? But you did your best to make it nice. And technically, nothing bad did happen.”

“But that conversation—”

“Is one I deserved, honestly. And that’s the difference, isn’t it? All those other times, I didn’t deserve for those things to happen to me. But I was being unfair with you, and hurt your feelings. I wasn’t being a good—well, that’s another thing.”

When he doesn’t clarify for a few moments, Byleth tries her guess. “You… don’t know how to be a good friend?”

Claude rubs the back of his neck, and avoids looking at her again. “I’ve never been great with friends. Or, more like, I just straight up didn’t have any. Like ever. Not like I didn’t try, of course. But as to why I was friendless for so long, well… that’s information I’ll share eventually.”

“I can see why you wanted all of this a secret. But, why tell me?”

“Because,” he says with another sigh, “it’s not you who was in the wrong here. And you deserve to know why.” He looks at her now, and while he isn’t smiling as much as he normally does, there is still a smile there. “Think of it as a trade. Swapping facts about one another. For now, we’re even.”

Who knew, that someone as sociable and friendly as Claude, actually didn’t have any friends before. And is still a little lost on how to be a good friend in general. He’s learning, step by step, just like her.

_I’m… not alone in this anymore._

“Plus,” he shrugs, “I think at this point, I know enough about you to be assured you won’t tell anyone what we just talked about,” he ends with a wink.

She nods. “I already forgot our whole conversation. And all the previous ones concerning this topic.”

That earns her a short laugh from him. “Knew you’d get it, Teach. So, with that out of the way, how about we start over? You’re right: we’re not exactly friends, but there’s plenty of time left in the school year to reach that point, yeah?”

He holds out his hand, and says, “Hi, I’m Claude von Riegan, leader of the Golden Deer house and a student at the Officers Academy of Garreg Mach Monastery. And you are?”

“Byleth Eisner,” she says, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “Ex-mercenary. Currently employed as a professor of the Golden Deer house in the very same institution you’re learning in.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you! Mind if I call you ‘Teach’?”

“Not at all. You’re actually the only one allowed to call me that.”

Okay, she hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it’s too late now to take it back. Claude smirks, arching an eyebrow. “Is that right? And why do I get the privilege? Mayhap, I might already be your favorite student? For real this time?”

“Hmm, you ruined this little moment.”

“Oh, no I don’t think I have! We’re still in the same moment. So, Teach,” he leans forward again with that mischievous grin plastered on his face, “why _is_ it that I get nicknaming privileges? No one else has given you such a moniker.”

“No one else has tried. But I figure it’s out of respect they all just call me, ‘Professor’.”

“Hey,” he leans back, a hand to his chest in pseudo offense, “I respect you plenty!”

“You don’t listen to my instructions,” she casually throws back. “Like when I was pretending to pee in private a few days ago.”

“_Why_ do you keep going back to the pee thing? I apologized for that!” Though his face doesn’t show it, she thinks the tips of his ears might be turning red again. He’s pouting, looking the slightest bit grumpy. It’s… cute. “And I promise not to just assume anymore what you may or may not be doing when you go out into the woods alone.”

“Good. Because one day, I might actually be pee—”

“_Please_, Teach, I am literally _begging_ you to stop bringing that up.”

“Then beg.”

And again, she’s not sure why she said it, but it might have to do with the fact that Claude really is blushing now and tongue-tied at her response, sputtering incoherent jumbles of words. She really likes how he looks when flustered. More than she should, probably. Being able to catch him off-guard, looking like that, is very cute.

She’s been thinking that a lot lately. How cute Claude is. About the softness of his hair from that time she ran her fingers through it. That the shape of his eyebrows is endearing. How charming of a smile he has, at least the few times he’s not forcing himself to do so. Pondering over the beautiful green hue of his eyes.

How her pulse quickens just the slightest bit, when she thinks about him sometimes.

Like it is now, once he’s resumed his calm façade. And scoots closer to her, that signature, impish smirk on his face. She knows that once he’s recovered, he won’t be caught off-guard again in the same day. Because now he knows she’s teasing him, and he’ll retaliate tenfold.

“And how exactly,” he starts, but in a different tone. A little lower. Quieter. Makes warmth bloom in her chest again, but she can feel it down to her toes this time, “would you have me beg, Teach?”

Words die on her tongue. She’s never felt like this before. Warmer than usual. And so she can’t come up with a response, and neither can she break their eye contact. He’s focused in on her, but the longer he stares, the more that smirk turns into a softer smile. And she doesn’t know why his look is changing now, but she can’t say she hates it.

Claude leans away, almost immediately, at the sound of grass being walked through from just nearby. Ashe is approaching them, looking a little frustrated.

“Um, hello. I’m sorry to interrupt whatever was going—”

“Nothing was happening,” Claude cuts in. “We were just having a little chat.”

“Ah, okay. Then, can I ask a favor from you, Professor?”

“Of course.” The warmth from a few seconds ago begins to dissipate. “If I’m able to help, I will. What’s on your mind, Ashe?”

He stares at the grass beneath his boots, clenching his fists at his sides. Then he looks at her again, his lips thinned into a firm line.

“I want to go with you and the knights to confront the Western Church.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little unsure about this. But I figured we're at chapter 32, and almost 5 months have passed in-story, so it _should_ be fine that Claude starts to open up a little more with Byleth. Lol And she, in turn, is continuing to feel some things she still can't put a name to. Hmm....
> 
> Also, I am not a lupine enthusiast. If I got any wolf behavior wrong, please correct me if that's your area of expertise. 😂
> 
> So, as hinted in the last sentence there, we're going to get into the first paralogue of this fic. Or, well, at least the first one I want to include in this story. Like I said before, not all of them will make it in here; just the ones I feel are the most relevant. Paralogues can't be unlocked in-game until the 8th or 9th month, I believe, but story-wise, that doesn't make sense to me. So, I've already handpicked which ones will be featured in my fic, and when.
> 
> By the way, thanks to everyone for the feedback about the rating of this fic. I think I'll keep it as it is for now, but probably mention in my tags that this story is T+ specifically, instead of just T.
> 
> Don't have much else to say. I'll take this space to promote some works again that people have given me! Please [give](https://twitter.com/powdermeow/status/1265709412154519553?s=20) [these](https://twitter.com/tishtish4/status/1265841899404791808?s=20) [content](https://twitter.com/crayoncatArt/status/1265885278402605058?s=20) [creators](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418561) some love and check out their other stuff! They're all so sweet! Thank you so much for the gifts of my entry into the realm of space and time!! And thanks to everyone else who wished me a good one, too!! 🥰
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	33. XXXIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Rhea requests for Byleth to help her and the Knights of Seiros apprehend the Western Church bishop and his remaining followers. For her students, it's optional, and they're given around a day to think about it. Byleth then speaks with Sylvain privately, asking if he's alright after the fight against Miklan. He assures her he's fine, but she has a feeling he's lying. Later in the day, she trains with Catherine to get more practice with the Sword of the Creator. Linhardt is allowed to watch from a safe distance for his research. Through it, Catherine deduces that Byleth is afraid to use her sword to its full capacity. After their spar, Byleth has a chat with Linhardt until he falls asleep, and promptly leaves after Claude arrives to avoid their banter. She has a long overdue heart-to-heart with him about their nebulous friendship, and they manage to patch up the small rift between them. It leads into some playful teasing, although Byleth doesn't know why he makes her feel so warm. It's interrupted by Ashe, who says he'd like to go with her to confront the Western Church.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXIII ⧽  
  
Falling Short of Heaven

** _21st of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1180 ━_ **

Their rest time was cut short yesterday. The scout that spoke with Catherine told her they found exactly where the bishop of the Western Church made his hideaway in the Brionic Plateau. Not wanting to risk the chance of him leaving, it was announced the camp would pack up the following morning. Even after such a quick change of plans, the class still hadn’t come to a decision, except for Ashe.

“Byleth,” Catherine had told her, “tell this boy to go back with Gilbert and the others.” Apparently Ashe had tried hard to convince her to let him tag along, but she had refused every request.

“I won’t get in the way, Professor!” Ashe promised. “Please, I need to go with you. I need to know why Lonato was involved in all of this. I want to face his manipulators myself.”

“This is exactly why you _shouldn’t_ go,” Catherine pointed out. “You’re too emotional. Too driven by revenge.”

“Catherine, please! This is important to me! And I’ve… I’ve improved a lot with my combat ability. What we went through in Conand Tower, wasn’t that enough proof we’re capable?”

She was quiet, giving him a hard stare. Then she looked to Byleth. “I still don’t like it, but you’re his professor. What do you think?”

Fighting against Miklan with that unexpected monster transformation still had her shaken up. But she doubted the Western Church would have Relics on them. And so far, she’s sure that monsters only appear when a person tries to use such a weapon. They’re not, like, wild animals that can spawn whenever. Right?

“He can come with us.” That earned her a disapproving look from Catherine, but a relieved smile from Ashe. “I’ll be with him the entire time to make sure he doesn’t get severely injured.”

“Well, fine. I’ll let Lady Rhea know. But I absolutely mean it, Ashe.” She pointed at him, stern. “The moment you become a liability, you’re being sent back to the safety of our next encampment. Got it?”

“Yes, of course!”

Huffing, she nodded, and then left.

Ashe continued to promise he wouldn’t get in the way, even as they made their way back to the classroom tent where Byleth told everyone they’d be leaving tomorrow. She reiterated that she’d rather they return to the monastery for a much deserved rest, and they eventually agreed.

Most of them, anyway. Raphael and Linhardt were the first to tell her they wanted to come along. The former because he agreed with Mercedes that she was exhausting herself too much, so he wanted to help take some of the pressure off while on the battlefield. And Linhardt, because he wanted more chances to study her in action with the Sword of the Creator, even if it meant he’d have to be out there in the fray yet again.

Lysithea also volunteered, since she didn’t trust her magical peer to actually heal anyone should they need it. And that prompted Leonie to insist coming along as well because, apparently, “Captain Jeralt is counting on me to watch your back, and I can’t very well do that if you’re out here and I’m over there.”

Thankfully, no one else requested to tag along after that. They felt bad, but wanted to get home to recover from their monster experience. Byleth didn’t hold it against them, and said there’s no reason to feel guilty over it. Claude said he’d like to come with her to apprehend the instigators from the Western Church, but ultimately decided to go back with everyone.

“I’ll watch out for our class, Teach. Make sure they keep up with their studies,” he told her when she handed him her lesson plan for the week. He also made a light-hearted comment about not being surprised she had one ready.

“Although,” he started after a short pause, “when you get back to the monastery, think about taking a breather. Raph and Mercie aren’t wrong; you really are working yourself to the bone.”

“Lady Rhea requested this of me. I can’t say no.”

“Yeah, I’ve got that part down. But it seems like sometimes she _forgets_ you’re just flesh and blood. Not something invincible.”

When she couldn’t think of anything else to say, Claude had stepped closer, leaning down a bit to meet her eyes. “Teach, you actually do look a little tired. I know you want your precious fawns to be well and rested, but that courtesy should also extend to you. No shame in wanting a break for yourself.”

She felt that sensation again with him so close. The kind that made her chest feel warm. “I know, and I will when I get back,” she said so he could finally step away. She wasn’t actually sure if she’d be able to relax once she herself returned to the monastery.

But at that time, she was too hot with him looking at her like that. And she didn’t know how else to make it stop.

Now, the next day, they’re continuing westward to the plateau. Parting with a bigger portion of her class makes her feel uneasy. Not being there to protect them. Or watch out for them. But she trusts Claude to take the reins in her stead, at least for a little while.

Catherine insists she ride in the caravan with her students (Linhardt fell asleep almost immediately). She figures someone must’ve told her she’d been walking the whole journey to their monthly mission and back. Leonie is the only one not seated with them as she’s riding her horse alongside the caravan.

“Why’d the pegasus come?” Lysithea asks her.

She gets a shrug in response. “Dunno. She was supposed to go with Gilbert and the others. But not even a few minutes in to their trek, she turned back around and came this way.”

The pegasus is flying overhead with the others from the Knights of Seiros. Apparently the aerial soldiers are going to watch over her meanwhile, from what Byleth knows.

“Maybe she got attached to you, Leonie,” Raphael suggests. “She wanted to see a friendly face!”

“Could be. Although I don’t know a lot about pegasus behavior. Do they get attached the same way dogs do?”

Unfortunately, Marianne isn’t with them so they’ll have to wait to ask her. Byleth wonders if pegasi are like wolves. That they’ll seek out others like them for company and protection. Maybe this creature sees Leonie as a leader of some kind, and didn’t want to stray from the group. She was the one who found her in the tower, after all.

“Leonie,” Byleth starts. She gets a hum of acknowledgment in return. “When we get back to Garreg Mach, I’m going to have you considered to start aerial training.”

“Woah, really, Professor?” Leonie looks at her with wide eyes. “Did they tell you I’ve been practicing?”

“Hold on, what?”

“Guess that’s a no.” She readjusts herself in the saddle. “Yeah, outside of my mandatory class training, I’ve been practicing with the pegasi.”

“You need instructor permission for that,” Byleth points out.

“Actually, I was talking to Seteth about it one day—about asking you, I mean, and he recommended I try it first. He signed some papers, and the pegasus riders have been giving me extracurricular lessons on weekends. Sorry I didn’t tell you before. I figured I’d surprise you after I pass the exam.”

That’s not what surprises her. It’s that Seteth still doesn’t think she’s fit to teach. He went ahead and approved of Leonie’s training before discussing it with her first. He doesn’t know her students like she does. What if Leonie hadn’t been ready? Does he watch her practice to make sure she’s not in peril?

He certainly doesn’t have Divine Pulse in case she should fall from her mount and meet a swift end.

But she supposes he has access to all the student progress records. He could’ve checked all the reports Byleth’s submitted so far. Still, to undermine her authority is…

“I know Seteth is in charge of the academy,” Ashe starts, “and you’re really good at, well, pretty much everything we train at, Leonie. But maybe he should’ve asked the professor first.”

“Ah, yeah he should’ve. Or maybe I shouldn’t have been trying to surprise her with it.” She glances at Byleth. “Sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just wanted to try my hand at aerial combat.”

“It’s not necessarily you I’m upset with, Leonie. Seteth should’ve let me make that decision. I know your progress better than anyone, aside from yourself. And what if I had been planning to direct your skills in another field?”

She sighs. “But, in this case, I _was_ planning on asking you to start training for this. He’s technically my boss, so in the end, he has the final say.”

“But you’re our instructor,” Ashe reminds. “I feel like Seteth meant well, but, I think you should talk to him about this, Professor. Has he been giving you a hard time?”

Logically, she doesn’t believe he has. He’s still critical with the other professors if he thinks the way they’re handling lectures or training is detrimental to the students, in some shape or form. But sometimes, the tone he uses with her specifically during their meetings, makes her feel like she’s the most susceptible to criticism out of all of them.

In a way, she can understand. She’s only 20, and never taught anyone before coming to Garreg Mach. And to be in charge of a class, especially a class that has one of Fódlan’s future leaders? Anyone would want to make sure the job was being done correctly.

There’s also the fact that she had to keep letting go of students because she admitted she was new at this, and felt like they could do better with more seasoned instructors. Additionally, she kept allowing nobles from the other two countries (and even a Brigid princess) to join her when she had just said she’d do better with a smaller class.

Higher stakes for someone with limited experience probably has Seteth on edge. But she can do this; she has Divine Pulse if she has to use it as a last resort. Until then, she’ll make all her students into promising fighters by the time their school year is over.

“I think he just finds it strange that someone like me is teaching a class of people as young as I am,” she replies. “So, he’s more critical of me. Probably assumes my maturity is an average of everyone in my age group. And I’m sure he feels like all of you won’t learn to your fullest ability with another youth trying to guide you.”

“Well, I’ll admit you were pretty clunky at first,” Lysithea starts. “And I’ll be honest and say I didn’t have faith in you as our instructor at the start. But then you got the hang of things faster than I expected. We’ve all certainly improved—or at least most of us.” She gives a quick side-eye to the slumbering Linhardt. “Having a smaller class size was also a good idea, Professor. I think that also contributed to our growth.”

Raphael nods. “I dunno what you teachers do in your meetings, but if you need someone to convince Seteth you’re doing a good job, you can call on us!”

“If I ever gave you a hard time,” Leonie cuts in, “I didn’t mean it in a malicious way or anything. Guess I just expect more out of you since you’re Captain Jeralt’s kid. But, training with a mercenary group full of adults with experience is probably different from training a bunch of kids like us. So, you deserve some slack. Both from me, and from Seteth.”

“You’ve been working hard, Professor,” adds Ashe. “We all see it. And I’m sure that soon, Seteth will see it too.”

“Although,” Linhardt finally says, yawning. He must’ve overheard their chat while he faded in and out of sleep, “if I were you, I’d take a break for myself soon. After Mercedes mentioned you needed rest, we all started to notice too from your body language. Won’t do us students any good if our professor has stretched herself too thin, right?”

Leonie shakes her head. “Lin, you just want another excuse to not do any work, don’t you?”

“Maybe so. I never want to do any kind of work I don’t care about.” Byleth appreciates his blunt honesty. “But you can’t deny that the professor has to rest. Going on this spontaneous mission, just after she returned from the previous one that was really awful for several reasons?”

He gives a single-shouldered shrug. “Just saying. You might start thinking about taking a short vacation soon. We’re not all so helpless that we can’t handle ourselves for a few days. Claude will take over if our substitute instructor sucks. Which they will. After having you as a professor, well, the others just don’t compare.”

“Is this because I’m not as militant with your assignments and training?” she questions.

Linhardt gives a smile. “You’re among the more kind and laidback instructors, yes. Though what I really meant is that you’re flexible to our learning styles, so that’s why we’ve been improving quickly compared to most other classes. It’s important to be adaptable. But I don’t need to tell that to an ex-mercenary, do I?”

Yawning again, he reiterates, “Yeah, so, think about taking some kind of vacation within the coming weeks, Professor. I’m sure Claude will watch over us while you’re gone.”

“I dunno about that,” Lysithea remarks. “We’ll have to see how he does in this first test run, since Professor Byleth won’t be there for a few days.”

“I think he can do it,” Ashe debates. “When I ask him for help with my archery, he’s pretty good at giving me a hand. He’s been getting better at that, I think. Teaching us alongside the professor. In his, uh, own way of course.”

“Yeah!” Raphael nods. “Claude’s the kinda guy who can make friends with lots of people. And he always has an answer to everything!” Lysithea then makes a snarky comment about that not always being a good thing, but Raphael doesn’t hear it.

“Claude gets serious when shit starts to happen,” adds Leonie. “And as crazy as some of his plans sound at first, they’ve all worked out so far. But I agree that this will be good practice for him to take over while the professor is here with us.”

“He’ll handle it fine enough,” Byleth says. “Claude promised me as much before we parted ways. He _is_ the house leader. I need to give him opportunities to actually lead.”

Linhardt sits up straight then, humming in agreement. “Oh he will. He’s the other wolf, after all.”

“You don’t need to bring up that conversation,” she instantly replies. “The metaphor wasn’t accurate.”

“Hold on a minute; I wanna hear this.” Leonie sounds the slightest bit amused. “What do you mean they’re like wolves?”

And so Linhardt explains the wolf analogy. When he brings up the ‘mated pair’ thing, Lysithea scrunches up her nose. Surprisingly, it’s Ashe who responds first with, “No, no I don’t think that’s accurate either.”

“Yeah.” Raphael scratches the back of his head. “It kinda sounds like you’re calling them our mom and dad. They’re too young to be parents.”

“Claude is definitely _not_ my dad,” Lysithea immediately interjects. “An annoying big brother who treats me like a little baby is more of an accurate description.”

Leonie gives a laugh. “Yeah, pretty sure the professor doesn’t need the responsibility of a mom on top of being a teacher. And at least right now, I can’t imagine Claude as a father to anyone, honestly.”

“They’re not like the parental figures of a family,” Ashe agrees, but in a quick tone that Byleth hasn’t heard him use before. As if he wants to stop talking about it. “They’re just co-leaders.”

“Which is what the dominant pair of wolves are in a pack,” Linhardt reminds with a sigh. “That’s what I’m saying.” Stretching his arms above his head, he continues, “But I’m not interested in arguing. This is just how I understand it.” He gives a quick glance to Byleth, “Maybe one day, others will see it too,” before laying his head down again.

“Can we _please_ change the topic?” asks Lysithea. “This is weird to talk about.”

And so they do. Byleth is thankful for it. She doesn’t—or more like, can’t, imagine herself as a parent at any point in the future. Whether literally or figuratively. She highly doubts she ever will be, too. Being a mother probably requires a whole different set of skills she just doesn’t have. On top of that, mothers usually have their full range of emotions. Or at least, she thinks they would.

But she feels like Claude would be a good father somewhere down the line. He’s smart, and adaptable. Friendly, and encouraging when others need it. He’ll be able to figure it out eventually. And whoever he marries in the future will help him achieve that new facet of life, too.

So, she’s not sure why she feels something like worry. But in a different way than normal. One that scrapes at the space in her ribs and makes her the slightest bit uncomfortable.

If she listens hard enough, she thinks she can hear Sothis’ frustrated groan.

  
  
  
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Ashe couldn’t be more appreciative than he is right now.

Soon, he’ll have answers as to why Lonato had to die the way he did. Why the Western Church chose him specifically to manipulate. Although, he has a pretty good guess already. Somehow, they must’ve preyed on his grief of losing Christophe. Told him things he wanted to hear. And that was all it took to make him their pawn.

People like that—those who use others for their heinous plans—don’t deserve any mercy.

As much as he would have liked the class to help, he figures it’s better only a few people tagged along with him and Byleth. He doesn’t think he’s as advanced with his preferred weapon as some others, like Leonie or Felix. With only Byleth and four of his other classmates nearby, it’ll be easier for her to keep an eye on him without worrying about her entire roster of 15.

But, a small, _small_ part of him is a little glad Claude decided to return to the monastery.

He has nothing against him. He’s a skilled archer. Intelligent. Sometimes he’s funny. Ashe will usually ask him questions if he has trouble studying for exams, and Claude will help him with ease and a smile. He gets along with everyone (except maybe Lorenz and Lysithea… and Felix). Uplifts his peers when they do something great in their training or learn a new skill. Maybe a little sarcastic and cheeky at times, but overall it’s not hard to get along with him.

In a small way, he kind of reminds him of Sylvain. Except, _thankfully_, he’s not a womanizer. Claude doesn’t really show much interest in women, he’s noticed. Or anyone else, for that matter. Doesn’t lay on honeyed words to giggling girls or tries to butter up someone into going on a date with him like Sylvain does. Doesn’t talk about which girl of the week he’s slept with. Or which one’s father, brother, or boyfriend had threatened him for fooling around with her.

Byleth, however, seems to be the exception to his attention.

As far as he knows, Edelgard doesn’t spend time with Manuela outside of class. And Dimitri only spends extra hours with Hanneman if he needs a follow up on a day’s lecture, or is asking about his training progress.

Claude spends time with Byleth way more than is normal for a student and teacher. Though, in fairness, Byleth being an instructor at her age is pretty odd. Especially with no prior experience. But even if she was a fellow student, he’s sure Claude would still spend lots of extra time with her. More, actually, since it wouldn’t be weird for two students to always be alone together.

But in those circumstances—at least if they hadn’t been friends before, that usually means they’re interested in each other. Romantically.

He doesn’t want to think that’s what’s going on between them. Because he doubts Byleth would ever be inappropriate with a pupil. Then again, it’s not her fault if she crushes on someone her age. It’s not her fault Rhea made her a professor instead of allowing her in as a student. And maybe, Claude just spends a lot of extra time with her _because_ they’re about the same age. That’s a normal thing to do.

Yet when he caught them the other day, underneath the shade of that tree, it was a… suspicious thing to see. They were strangely close, physically, and holding each other’s gaze. He’s never seen Claude smile like that, either. It was almost… tender. In a way that Ashe has only ever read about in his novels.

Linhardt saying they’re like a pair of mated wolves because that’s how he’s interpreting their closeness just makes things more complicated. Claude and Byleth _aren’t_ their figurative parents. The class _isn’t_ their figurative group of children either.

Ashe doesn’t think he’s a jealous person. Not really. There’s nothing to be jealous of. Byleth gives as much attention as needed to any student who seeks it. Claude just happens to want the most of hers. Besides, he himself already gets extra attention from her too. She gardens with him every Sunday now instead of every other one. She doesn’t do that with anyone else, as far as he knows.

Yeah, that’s what’s going on. Each student just has a different way of spending extra time with her alone. For Claude, it’s sharing meals with her. And walking with her to and from class. And spending afternoons sitting with her under trees. And discussing training regimens on their off time. And keeping her company while she fishes at the pond.

That’s… no, that is suspicious.

But it’s also not his business to ask—especially out of nowhere—if Claude is harboring a crush on Byleth.

Much like Ashe knows he himself is.

Not like he wanted this to happen. Byleth is strong, and smart. Helpful. Patient. Though her facial expressions were neutral at first and her blank stare was even a little creepy at times, she’s starting to show more emotion now. Surprise, anger, worry, contentment. She’s almost like a heroine in a novel, going through her journey of self-discovery, and he’s happy to be a part of it.

She’s also _impossibly_ pretty. To the point where, sometimes, Ashe can’t look at her eye-to-eye.

It’s such a cliché thing to have happened. A student crushing on their professor. A professor who is barely older than them for some reason. And he’s not going to say anything, because it’s inappropriate. And she has so much on her plate already; she doesn’t need that added stress of knowing one of her students likes her that way. Ashe also doesn’t want her to treat him any different because of it.

_I’ll keep this to myself, at least until I’m no longer a student. And after I inherit Lonato’s estate, and become a real knight. Then, maybe, I’ll work up the courage to actually tell her…._

“Ashe?”

“Uh, um!” He jolts beside her. “Yes, Professor?”

“We’re almost there.”

It’s been four days since they’ve parted ways with Gilbert and the others. Yesterday, they passed through the border into Adrestian territory and made camp. Now they’re finally at the Brionic Plateau, and his moment is drawing ever closer.

There’s a cruel kind of humor in fog shrouding the forest they’re in. Just like on that horrid day. But unlike that time, he won’t leave the battlefield crying and plagued with grief.

“Remember, Ashe,” Catherine tells him as they go deeper inland, “you’re only here because of the grace of Lady Rhea. My job is to protect her, so you’ll be on your own if the professor isn’t nearby.”

“He won’t leave my sight,” Byleth promises. “My class and I won’t get in the way. I’ll have us scouting the perimeter of our formation, so I won’t be nearby to assist in protecting you, Lady Rhea.”

“Just having you do that is help enough already,” Rhea replies with a gentle smile. She has both a shield and a sword with her as a precaution. Ashe didn’t even know she was trained in it. He thought all bishops just practiced white and reason magic. “And do not worry about me. Catherine and Shamir are plenty of security.”

“Lady Rhea?” starts Ashe. “What happens if the professor and us find the bishop before he encounters you?”

She’s quiet for a few minutes. The only sounds are the marching of the soldiers around them, and the padded clops of the horses’ hooves. Pegasus riders are soaring up ahead, keeping eye on any movement from beyond the fog.

“Ashe, I know you are still hurt by what happened with Lord Lonato. But, we need to apprehend the bishop, not kill him. We cannot get our definitive answers, otherwise. However, if there is no other choice but to slay him, then… I suppose you must as an absolute last resort. He is an experienced mage, so keeping him in place might be difficult as he can warp away whenever he pleases.”

He can’t promise that the bishop will be alive by the time they’re done. Not that Ashe is going to immediately go for the kill; he wants answers too, more than anyone. But mages are tricky to fight, and if it comes down to apprehending him or slaying him so he doesn’t kill one of his classmates, then he’ll have to go with the latter.

There’s a clearing in the middle of the plateau. The fog is everywhere else except there. He wonders if it’s a trap, somehow. And he can understand why Catherine is debating with Rhea when the woman starts to step into it.

“I know this is what they want,” she tells her. “It is precisely why I am doing this. Catherine, you are here to protect me. But you cannot do that if we cannot even see our enemy. I will be fine, I promise. Once you see them, you strike.”

Rhea unsheathes her sword and keeps her shield firm in her left hand. Ashe wonders how she’ll be able to move in her robes.

No sooner does she step into the exact center of the clearing does a cavalier come charging at her. Rhea dodges the thrust of his lance with languid movements and slices up his right arm. Or, actually, slices it _off_. As if her sword is just a hot knife through butter.

He screams out in pain, and Shamir snipes at him in the chest from where she’s hidden behind a tree. The cavalier falls, his horse running away into the fog.

“As archbishop, I cannot falter in self-defense,” she tells them with a serene smile despite just having severed a man’s arm. “My life is wanted by the malevolent of souls. It would be naïve of me to think knights are the only ones who should be training diligently.”

There’s a distant neigh, and a pegasus rider comes swooping in from the sky. She has a longer lance, but Catherine sees her before Rhea does. She blocks with Thunderbrand, locking the lance between the spines of the blade. She yanks it forward and the rider falls off, her lance snapping in half. She doesn’t even get to raise her head before Catherine plunges the sword in her back.

“Don’t just watch!” she shouts at Ashe when she catches him staring. “We need to rout the enemy until we find that bishop!”

Byleth taps him on the shoulder. “The knights have scattered into their formations through the fog.” He can hear their battle cries and the _tang_ of their clashing weapons. “Now that we know pegasus riders are within enemy ranks, we should keep cover under the trees.”

“R-Right.”

He follows her and the other four into the forest. Leonie has a bit of trouble steering her horse through it. She makes a suggestion about needing to get outside the cover of foliage, but Byleth won’t allow it.

“Why are you being extra cautious?” she asks. “I can do this, Professor.”

“Just stay within the group. Fog is always risky to fight in, and something tells me it’s partially a magic spell again.” Byleth stops, halting them with her arm. “Listen.”

Lysithea is the first one to react. A ball of dark magic bubbles between her palms and she throws it at one of the nearby trees. An archer falls from it, choking as the Miasma spell sears his body. Byleth clicks her tongue when she deflects an arrow with the Sword of the Creator. The whip lashes out and strikes a shadow in another tree. She whisks it downward and a body follows along with it.

“Impressive,” Linhardt comments. “I’ll have to file that away for later analysis.”

“Um, now isn’t really the time to be impressed,” Ashe tells him. He hears the rustling of leaves from behind them and swerves around with his bow, shooting at the sound. A mage falls over the top of shrubbery with an arrow lodged firmly in his chest.

“Nice one!” Raphael comments. “There’s probably more of ‘em hiding out here.”

And there are. The further south they go through the forest, the more consistently they find the enemy. Raphael is the next to engage, blocking an assassin’s blade with his gauntlets. He’s slow to react though, and nearly gets his side sliced, but Ashe is there to puncture an arrow through the other man’s ribs instead. He falls over, blade dropping to the grass, and then he doesn’t move any more.

That’s how they fight through the fog and thicket. There’s no more time for talking. At one point, multiple archers surround them. And Ashe thinks this is what’s going to kill him. But Byleth whips her sword through the tops of the trees, almost in a circle, and every last archer falls to the ground.

Most lay in a pool of their own blood, but others are missing an arm or a leg (and in one case, a head). Linhardt turns green but he says a little mantra to himself and pointedly looks away from the gore. Byleth is as unflinching as ever.

Eventually, they reach the end of the thicket, and Leonie charges toward yet another cavalier, one who is aiming for Linhardt. She blocks the swing of the lance and does a twist of her wrist and arm around her own weapon that’s too fast for Ashe to follow. The cavalier is stabbed through the abdomen and he falls off the saddle when she gives a forceful yank to dislodge it.

Another assassin runs at them. Ashe shoots arrow after arrow, but only manages to get the man’s less-dominant arm. Byleth runs up to him in close range, blocking and dodging every swing of his long armorslayer. She twirls on her heel and slices her sword through his thigh, causing him to stumble enough for Raphael to slam his gauntlet into the man’s head, instantly crushing it.

“Leonie!” shouts Lysithea as she readies another Miasma spell. “To your left!”

But it’s too late. Another assassin jumps through the shrubbery and attacks. She turns her horse away just a little too slow. The blade slices deep through the poor creature’s flank, narrowly missing Leonie’s lower leg. The horse shrieks in pain as it tries to gallop away. Lysithea blasts magic at the assassin who falls instantly, but the damage has already been done.

The horse starts to stumble and Leonie jumps off of it, rolling onto the grass with practiced ease. It slumps onto the ground, bleeding out and breathing heavily, its chest rising and falling rapidly. She goes over to it, looking the saddest Ashe has seen her so far. She mumbles something, cradling its head in her arms and smoothing its mane back.

From somewhere within her armor, she takes out a hunting knife and slices the creature’s neck. She runs her hand over its eyes to close them once it’s still.

Ashe walks over to Leonie, bow at the ready just in case another enemy jumps out at them.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her sincerely.

“He was going to suffer a slow death if I didn’t end his life quickly,” she says quietly, still petting the creature’s mane. “At least this way, he won’t be in pain anymore. It was the least I could do for him as his rider. I’m glad Marianne isn’t here. Don’t think I could handle her tears.”

Byleth and the three others crowd around her. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she tells her gently, and maybe to some it’d sound silly or even funny to say that about a steed. But they count as a life as much as the soldiers who use them in combat. “Are you still able to fight on foot?”

“What kind of question is that?” Leonie picks up her lance as she stands, posture straight. “Of course I am, Professor. Right now, there’s no time to lament what happened. We need to keep out of danger, and find that bishop.”

So, they proceed further into the fog after Linhardt has healed up their injuries. Ashe stays beside Byleth in their little formation. No one speaks in order to keep an ear out for rustling. The trail in front of them starts to look familiar, and he realizes that they’re already at the edge of the plateau from where they had entered.

“We started this way,” Byleth says, having come to the same conclusion. “I think we’ve cleared most of the enemies in the south-east corner. We can head back to double-check, but I feel like our efforts should be—”

Ashe launches an arrow over her shoulder and strikes the mage who had stalked behind her. It lodges itself directly in the bridge of his nose where the mask had cracked because of the impact. Byleth watches him as he falls.

“You’ve saved me yet again, Ashe,” she tells him with a nod. “First at the tower, and now here. Thank you for keeping watch over me.”

It’s the slight praise in her voice that has him feeling warm inside. Dang, he really hopes he’s not blushing right now. “Of course, Professor! I will—I mean, we should watch out for you too.”

“Incoming,” Linhardt says in that bored tone of his. He casts a wind spell that slices through the orb of dark magic that had been aiming for them.

“Aww man, _more_ magic users?” Raphael groans when the mages walk out of the fog.

One of them readies another spell, but a muffled neigh has him distracted. Hooves smack against his head and he topples over as the rescued pegasus from before trots over his body. She goes to Leonie to sniff at her face.

“Hey, how’d you get all the way over here?!” she tells her. “Weren’t the other riders watching you?”

“Looks like she really likes you, Leonie!” Raphael says. “She probably got lonely without you there.”

“We can muse over pegasus behavior later,” Linhardt suggests. “We’re kind of in danger right now. Surrounded, actually.”

There’s brief confusion from the circle of mages at the scene that just happened. But then they simultaneously concentrate dark magic between their palms, most likely readying a combined attack. With that much power, Ashe doubts they’ll be able to avoid it. He hasn’t really been harmed by dark magic yet, and he doesn’t exactly want to find out what it feels like.

Leonie hops on the pegasus’ back and Byleth immediately says, “No.”

“You’ll need to trust me, Professor. I’ve been practicing; I can do this.”

“This is still too dangerous.”

“If I wasn’t competent and careful, you think the riders would’ve let me continue to train under them?” She holds tight onto the reins of her airborne steed. “I’ve got this; don’t worry.” And then she’s taking off into the sky, dodging the blasts of magic that are sent her way.

It’s enough of a distraction for Byleth to whip her sword in the enemies’ direction, cutting down a third of them on one side in a single flick. But after that, the magic blasts continue to hurl toward them to the point where they can’t even fight back. All they manage to do is swerve and dodge, or use their offense as their defense to dissipate the arcane orbs.

Ashe is running out of arrows, and he doubts his lance will do him any good at this range. Lysithea looks tired too, and Raphael’s gauntlets are starting to deteriorate from the magic. He wonders where Leonie went that she’s not helping them right now.

Then, he hears it. Charging footsteps, and the whoosh of an arrow flying by his ear. It strikes itself through the sternum of one of the mages. Then a crackle of lightning cuts through both the fog and the nearest mage. More arrows and lightning slices cut down the remainder of the enemy circle in rapid succession.

Catherine and Shamir step out of the fog when they’ve all been been slain. Behind them, is Lady Rhea.

Leonie and her new pegasus hover overhead. “I flew to them as fast as I could,” she explains to the class. “Since the professor doesn’t _trust_ me to help,” she looks pointedly at Byleth, “I figured I better play it safe and get people who she does think are competent.”

“Leonie,” Byleth starts, “it’s not that I think you’re unable to—”

“We know you are there,” shouts Lady Rhea. “Your faction of followers have either been killed or apprehended. Show yourself, bishop of the Western Church!”

Shadows from the fog loom in all around them, revealing more enemies. Perhaps the bishop’s personal battalion. The man himself steps forward at the front of them. His robes are black with purple and silver accents. The mask he wears is the same one as the others, black and shaped like a bird’s generic face, the rest of his head obscured by a hood.

He chuckles. “So, you actually chose to show yourself out in the open. The sneaky little witch trying to pass herself off as the goddess’ envoy.” Dark magic boils in both of his palms. “You think I’m afraid of you, or your accursed soldiers?”

The man laughs when he spots Byleth and the others of their class. “You even bring mere children into the fray, hoping to guilt enemy ranks into surrendering. How insidious. But they are bred in the same blasphemous hovel as you, and so I have no qualms about sparing them any further misguidance of living.”

All around them, the new circle of mages light spells between their palms, ready to attack. The western bishop concentrates a large orb of dark magic in one of his palms, holding it up beside him. Catherine curses under her breath at seeing so many more reinforcements, and Shamir is as cool as normal, not even glaring. But her grip is tight on her bow, and she’s already reaching back for an arrow from her quiver.

“I have waited long for this day,” the man says. “Archbishop Rhea, I will bring judgement upon you in the goddess’ stead!”

Catherine rushes toward him and slashes, but he disappears as soon as her blade slices where he had once stood. That was apparently the signal, as now all the other mages are throwing their spells their way. Byleth whips her sword around and manages to tear through some of the attacks, as well as a few of the casters.

Leonie soars up high, drawing some attention away from the ground. Enough that Raphael can pummel the distracted mages who then have to look his way, only to get impaled by Leonie’s lance from up above. Lysithea casts Swarm Z, but the fog is too thick for it to affect all of the enemies in range.

Rhea herself blocks any assaults with her shield and casts her own fire magic in retaliation. She alternates between dodging through their ranged assaults or cutting through them with her sword to prevent the energy from reaching Ashe and the others.

He feels eyes watching him, and so he turns on his heel and shoots an arrow to where he sees a blink of movement. They make a noise, and he follows them through another grouping of trees. From there, he can see the western bishop trying to stumble away. He has an arrow in his shoulder blade.

Ashe shoots again, this time at the back of his thigh, and the man shouts, bracing himself against the nearest tree. How lucky he got with that first shot. To injure the western bishop enough that he can’t escape very far. The goddess must have sympathized with his grief.

“Damn these brats!” he growls when he turns around to look at him. He gives a dismissive huff until he begins to chuckle. “But you’re here all alone, while your friends are occupied.” Another arcane rune glows around his hand. “If I can pick you off, that’ll be one less obstacle toward the witch.”

Anger bubbles up in his gut. Ashe slowly raises his bow, another arrow notched within it. And he has to be calm so he doesn’t miss. He wants answers, but he’d also like to see the damn bastard bleed out on the floor.

“You’re going to pay for what you did to my family,” he tells the man. “Did to _me_.”

“I don’t even know who you _are_!”

“Lonato’s blood,” Ashe starts, ire frosting over into his even voice, “is on your hands.”

Something like a hum of realization comes from the masked fiend. “Ah yes, he was a devout believer. So much so that we took it upon ourselves to simply provide him the means of salvation. To end his misery.”

“_Salvation_?!” he shouts. “You used him and threw him away! Made him fight your agenda while you hid in the safety of your church! Misled him! Preyed on his grief of losing Christophe!”

“No, we simply brought the poor man to his senses. Were you his page or something? You speak as if you know him on a personal level.”

“I’m his son!” he cries, bowstring drawn back. “And I won’t let you get away with—won’t let you hurt another family!”

As soon as he fires the arrow, the mage casts his spell. Ashe manages to dodge it, but it does graze his left arm. He clenches his teeth in pain. Feels the dark magic burning and numbing into his skin, all the way down to his elbow.

But the bishop looks worse for wear. The new arrow is stuck in his other shoulder. He cries out as he helplessly flails both of his now injured arms. Ashe forces himself to raise his bow again, despite the surging pain now shooting down to his wrist.

He fires again, and again, and again. Left right, left right. Trying to stop him from casting anymore spells every time he raises his hand. Until the man’s arms are littered with arrows. He gives a strangled cry as he falls to his knees on the ground, now visibly struggling to move his upper limbs. Blood seeps through his sleeves and drip down his gloves onto the green grass.

From behind him, Shamir and Byleth run out from the trees. Byleth immediately goes to Ashe as Shamir ties up the bishop from neck to torso, ignoring his screams as she forcibly binds his injured arms behind him with a chain.

“Ashe, I’ve been looking for you.” Byleth sounds almost worried. When she notices his shoulder, she says, “We need to get this healed immediately,” and starts to rip into the lightly torn cloth there. “Dark magic is tricky to recover from.”

“But I’m fine, Professor. I-It’s nothing I can’t wait to have he—_ah_!”

His face burns as she forcefully rips off his sleeve. He doesn’t want to look at how bad it is. Her eyes narrow just the slightest bit as she gives a thoughtful hum. Byleth brings her hand up over the infliction. Soft green magic brushes along his skin as she goes down his left arm. At first it feels a little cold, almost cool, until slowly he can feel the warmth and sensation again coming from his shoulder.

The purple and black splotches start to recede until there’s nothing left but a faint blooming scar where the blast had made impact. Byleth rubs a gentle thumb over it, and Ashe’s heart beats faster.

“Does that feel better?” she asks, meeting his eyes.

She has such nice eyes. Big and blue, almost doe-like. Long eyelashes, and things he shouldn’t be focusing on because it only heats up his face more. “Y-Yes, it does. I can feel my shoulder—my whole arm again. Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad it worked. This is my first time healing dark magic wounds, so lucky us.”

“W-Wait, it is?” _And here I thought she knew what she was doing…._

“Anyway, we better have Lysithea or Linhardt look at it regardless. Or even Lady Rhea.”

Shamir is done properly bounding the mage, although she left the arrows in his arms. She hoists him over her shoulder, the man limp like a worm. Ashe and Byleth follow her out of the trees to the open meadow of the plateau.

The fog is completely gone now, leaving only natural cloudy skies. The bodies of the mages lie still on the grass. Rhea is further away, healing injuries of some of the soldiers with deeper wounds. Some parts of her robes are torn, and her long locks are frazzled. Leonie, Raphael, and Lysithea all crowd around Linhardt as he mends them with magic, face slightly green as he tries to look away from the blood.

Shamir tosses the western bishop onto the ground. He cries out in pain as one of the arrows snaps upon impact.

“Holy crap,” Catherine says, staring at the man. “Shamir, you really overdid it.”

“Wasn’t me. Was the kid,” she replies simply, pointing her thumb back at Ashe. “The bishop already had cactus arms by the time Byleth and I got there.”

“Huh. Well I’ll be.” Catherine looks at him in surprise. “You managed to apprehend him. All by yourself?”

“I just got lucky with the first shot into his shoulder,” admits Ashe. “And the rest I… well I don’t know how I did it. I wanted to… well…”

“Kill him?”

He nods slowly, hanging his head. “But then I wouldn’t have learned anything…. And Lady Rhea still needs her information, doesn’t she?”

“That she does.”

The western bishop wiggles on the ground, trying to sit up, but falls over on his other arm. More arrows snap and he cries out again. “Apostates! You sully the name of the goddess!”

Rhea steps in then after she’s done checking everyone else for injuries. Her hands are folded in front of her, but her stare burns with a cold kind of wrath, betraying the rest of her outward sense of calm.

“You are the apostates,” she replies in a frigid tone. “The goddess would never bless such wicked hearts with her guidance. She only sympathizes with the just, of which you are not. And you will pay for your crimes, bishop of the Western Church. You, and whatever followers remain alive here today.”

He tries to spit some venomous insult at her, but one of the priests casts a Silence spell on him, and all he can do is thrash in anger.

Then Rhea turns to Byleth. “Professor, thank you for all of your help. You and your students. Please, head back to the encampment with the knights who are more gravely injured. They need rest, as do you young ones.”

“What about you?”

“I will stay here with Catherine and some others. We have one last interrogation to complete,” she looks down at the western bishop, frowning, “before we can conclude this investigation as definitively solved. Shamir, please escort them back to safety.”

“Understood.”

Shamir only needs to nod at them to follow before they’re rounding up with some of the other knights. Seeing the encampment again after a considerable walk is a blessing, and Cyril is one of the first to meet them.

“Where’s Lady Rhea?” he asks. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” replies Shamir. “Thanks to the professor and her students, we were able to keep Rhea safe, and apprehend the western bishop.”

Pouting ever so slightly, Cyril rolls a small rock underneath his shoe. “Glad everything worked out. Wish I could’ve been there to help.”

“In time, you may. Just not right now. You’re still not adequate enough in your weapon skills to join the fray.”

“Shamir,” Byleth starts, “if he’s really serious about it, I can help train him in my off time.”

“Are you suggesting I’m lacking in my teaching skills?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just that you’re already busy going on missions for Lady Rhea. During those times, I can help.”

“You’re pretty busy yourself.”

“Yes, but I can cut back on my leisure activities to make time for him.”

“Professor, remember what Mercedes said,” Lysithea starts. “You need to rest as well. Don’t take on more than you can chew.”

Ironic, since Lysithea is the one who’s always studying and reviewing their lectures. She’s also the top of their class, too. Even as hard as Ashe tries to keep his grades consistent, he doubts he’ll ever reach peak performance like her.

“Yeah, you don’t need to take me into your class, Professor,” Cyril starts. “I’m not good at book work anyway. And Shamir is good at teachin’ me bow skills and other things. Besides, I can’t r—uh, well, yeah I’m not a classroom kind of person. I’m more useful doing stuff outside.”

“Excuse me.”

A soldier walks up to them with a stack of papers bound tightly together with a thin leather strap. “Professor Byleth, I have something for one of your students.”

“Which one?”

“This paper says ‘Ashe Duran’. It was dropped off earlier today by our fellow knights from the Gaspard estate. They were helping with the investigation by guarding the premises to make sure the western bishop’s people didn’t try sneaking around to use it as a hideout. In doing so, they found these documents.”

“I’m Ashe,” he says immediately, stepping forward.

The soldier nods, and hands him the stack. “They didn’t say what the papers were about. Just that you deserved to know of their contents.”

“Thank you. I… appreciate it.”

He can already recognize the writing of the first paper sheet after the blank one. It’s Lonato’s sweeping cursive that always tapers to a point once he’s finished writing a word. And Ashe won’t read it. Not here. But he already saw the name, ‘Christophe’, and parts of a sentence that includes, ‘loss of faith’.

Byleth is the first one to speak. “Maybe they’re the answers you’ve been looking for.”

“Maybe,” he replies quietly, not sure what else to say.

“You can have our tent to yourself for a while, Ashe, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone though….”

“We’ll make do. Won’t we?” she asks, looking to the other four. They all nod in response. “There’s plenty of shady trees to rest under.” Patting his good shoulder, she says, “I’ll ask one of the nuns to come over and double-check you for injuries in a bit. But right now, take some time for yourself. You’ve worked hard to reach this point, Ashe.”

And that little spark he gets whenever he’s around her burns hotter. A part of him wants her to sit with him as he reads, but he doesn’t trust himself not to cry again, or curse under his breath. She shouldn’t have to see him like that.

“Okay,” he replies, starting to walk away. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

When he gets inside their tent, he closes the flap. Ashe sits down on his cot, and unties the paper stack. His hands tremble a little and he swallows hard as he begins to read the first few sentences.

_Lonato, I’ve finally caught the ones responsible for using your pain as their weapon. I still haven’t forgiven myself for being the one to kill you, but, I promise to atone for—to carry on your legacy as best as I can._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, a character who isn't Byleth, Claude, or Sylvain gets a POV! Although I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. Don't think I got Ashe's voice quite right yet. Hmm....
> 
> I've decided that I don't want to drag out the paralogues, so, most of them will only be one chapter each. I always feel like I risk being repetitive in my action scenes if I have too many battles occurring one after the other, or with only short intervals of "rest" narratively. This is why I try to pace plot points with slice of life chapters. But... how do you think I did? I'd be really appreciative if you could let me know!
> 
> Chapter 34 will also have a new POV character, so, I hope you're looking forward to it! It's someone who has already appeared, not anyone _new_ new. Just... it'll be their first POV, ha ha.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	34. XXXIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth takes five students with her to assist the Central Church in tracking down the Western Church bishop. She learns of Leonie's pegasus flier training that was authorized by Seteth without her knowledge. It leaves her a bit miffed he still doesn't trust her competency in teaching. Ashe thinks about how strange the closeness is between Claude and Byleth, despite their roles. His own crush on her tempts him to be jealous, but ultimately he decides there's no reason to be. When they get to the Brionic Plateau, it's covered in a dense fog, much like the day they fought Lord Lonato. Ashe and the others are ever alert as they rout the enemies on the south-eastern side, but they lose Leonie's horse along the way. When they find the western bishop, they're ambushed by his battalion until Leonie flees on the wayward pegasus from Conand Tower to alert Catherine, Shamir, and Rhea. Ashe manages to apprehend the bishop while keeping his anger at bay, and is given documents retrieved from the Gaspard estate back at camp. Ones which he hopes will give him the answers he's looking for.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXIV ⧽  
  
Points of Contention

** _30th of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1180 ━_ **

They returned to the monastery a few days ago. As house leader, it was Claude’s obligation to hand in Byleth’s lesson plans to their substitute teacher. He was also going to charm them into feeling bad about their grueling mission so they would be exempt from chores for the rest of the week.

Unfortunately, their substitute teacher, was Seteth.

Claude had never had so much homework in his life. Or bombarded with pop quizzes every two hours of lecture. Apparently Seteth didn’t want them to fall behind the other classes of the academy since they spent a while out on the road. Even though Claude politely explained that Byleth still did give them on-the-go lectures about their studies, Seteth wouldn’t budge. He didn’t think studying on the road was adequate education, so he doubled-up on all the lessons.

His classmates not-so-discreetly gave him looks and glances, as if pleading with him to lay on the charm thick so they could catch a break.

“We’ve just come back from a long and treacherous mission, Seteth,” he starts. “And so we really won’t be up to par without having a good few days of rest. We can’t be at top performance if we’re too exhausted physically and mentally, right?”

“I suppose there is truth to that.”

“Yeah, so, our grades will suffer because we haven’t been resting adequately. We need to catch up on all that sleep.”

Seteth stroked his short green beard as he looked at the desk in thought. “If your minds are exhausted, then you will not retain any of this information, no matter how much homework I give you. Very well. I will relent on this.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw some of his peers sigh silently in relief. And then came the compromise.

“However,” he regards the class again, “I do not want you all slacking off either. While you will receive no homework, there needs to be a balance. As I do not want to disrupt the flow of your physical training that Byleth has set for you, I will not make you go through any sort of drills. Instead, I will substitute them for chores of manual labor so you do not forget the feeling in your limbs, at the very least.”

“Uh,” Claude started up, when several pairs of eyes honed in on him again, “sure that _could _work. But without enough sleep beforehand, we might all just be a cluster of klutzes. Don’t you think?”

Shaking his head, he replied, “This is the best I can do. I cannot show favoritism to any class regardless of the circumstances. You will all have your chores assigned for the rest of the week by the end of today. Now, let us get back to the lesson.”

“Seteth, if I could juuust—”

“Please, no more disruptions, Claude. I would hate to have to enact a penalty system on you all, thus giving you additional chores to complete on top of the ones you are obligated weekly.”

When he turned back to the board to continue writing down his lecture as he spoke, Hilda hissed her displeasure at Claude. ‘Then you try sweet talking him,’ he mouthed. They went at it back and forth like that until Seteth had to clear his throat and raise a stern eyebrow at their angry gestures toward one another.

“I am serious. No more disruptions,” he said, but looked at Claude when he addressed the whole class. “Unlike your usual professor, I am not charmed by boyish grins or a twirl of a lock of hair. Though your learning routines will have to be momentarily adjusted to accommodate additional rest that you lacked while on this past mission, you will not get out of doing absolutely _no_ work. You will have to accept this compromise for now.”

And so that’s how he finds himself shoveling horse shit in the stables with Petra. She doesn’t seem to mind too much. He, on the other hand, does. Especially in this heat, late afternoon. The time when the sun is the hottest before it starts to cool down in the evening. And what does heat do? Make things smell more.

He’s nearly fainted a couple of times by the stench that he’s shoveled faster to get it all thrown out. Claude wonders if this had been Seteth’s plan all along. If it was, then he has to give him kudos for that, honestly.

“Man, I can’t _wait_ until Teach comes back with the others,” he complains to Petra. “At least she paces our learning. And doesn’t make us all do heavy chores like these. I feel like an overstuffed goose, except with knowledge instead of veggies.”

“You do not have papers emerging from your ears, though,” she says with a slight smile. “I believe you can endure it, Claude.”

“Oh I already plucked out all those papers from my ears earlier. You just didn’t see,” he jokes. With a heavy sigh, he shovels another mound of grotesquely brown horse pies. “Why did he make us do this after class and just before dinner? I dunno if I’ll have an appetite by then anymore.”

“If we are doing this later, then we might expel our stomachs after having eaten plenty,” she suggests. “This smell is not nice.”

“Yeah, guess that’s true.” He wipes his forehead with the back of his bare arm. He had to take off his blazer and tie it around his waist because it’s so hot, although his t-shirt is only marginally better at keeping him cool. “Good thing is that we’re almost done here. One more stable, and we can finally take a breather. Though, hopefully, y’know, _outside_ with fresh air and not in this little box of poop that seems to get smaller and smaller the longer we stay in one.”

Petra giggles. “You are funny, Claude. I can see why the professor has much fondness for you.”

“That’s because I’m Teach’s favorite student.”

She plants the shovel in the ground. “You are? I was told that instructors are not supposed to be having favorites. It is bad for morale.”

“Well that makes it sound a little grim, but you’re not wrong. And I’m also kidding. Though sooner or later, Teach is gonna have a favorite whether she wants to or not. Every professor has one, despite how hard they try not to make it obvious. It just happens.”

“I can understand. I think if she is to be having a favorite, it could be Sylvain.”

That makes him stop his work almost embarrassingly fast. “Yeah? How do you figure?”

“They are hanging out a lot, more often than you two used to. And the other day, Ingrid told me that they were hugging near the stables for a long time about a week in the past. Or what she said is, ‘too long to not be suspicious’. I do not think the professor would hug someone that long if she does not have a lot of fondness for them.”

He pauses for a moment, trying to think of something to say that won’t make it sound like he’s jealous. Because he’s not. No logical reason to be. The other day, all of them got to hug her, even if it was as a group.

Shaking his head as he starts up his shoveling again, Claude says, “Nope; he’s not her favorite. Teach is aware of his reputation after all.”

“Ah, the reputation of chasing skirts.” Petra follows his lead and goes back to cleaning her own area of the stable. “At first I did not understand the term. When I asked Felix, he said it means Sylvain likes to have sex with a lot of women. Although he used a crude word that I do not want to be repeating. The one that starts with an ‘f’.”

Claude gives a laugh. “Oh that Felix and his flowery vernacular. He sure adds a kind of spice to our class, doesn’t he? But he’s right. Sylvain really loves the ladies. Always trying to flirt his way into their beds.”

“Sylvain is a very handsome man. Good muscles too. I can understand why many women lay with him. Though he has never flirted with me. Every time we start talking, someone like Dorothea is around to tell me they need my help. One time Seteth was nearby and Sylvain was almost sprinting away in the opposing direction.”

“Well it’s not your loss, so don’t worry about it. There are plenty of other guys who would want to flirt with a princess of your caliber.”

She hums. “If they are serious of courtship, then they will have to duel me first, and win. Or at least be even with my skill. Only then will I consider it. That is our way in Brigid for many, especially for the royal family. Although the courtship duel is open to all.”

“Meaning?”

“The king or queen, or the next in line to the throne, can be challenged to a courtship duel even by a person with the same spirit of being. And if they win against them, then they can court, but only if the one who holds the throne is even interested. If there is no interest—not even as friends, then they cannot get along in marriage. And if the marriage is not strong, then the ruler will be distracted from ruling properly because of the bond problems.”

This is interesting. And pragmatic. To be honest, he doesn’t know a lot about Brigid culture. But that’s definitely a type of marriage system he could get behind. Maybe not so much the duel part, although there’s a lot of sense into it. He’s sure that portion alone would enamor many an Almyran man.

Strong women seem to be something that gets a good chunk of them hot and bothered. And boy are there _plenty_ here in Fódlan. Sometimes to scary levels. His mom being the primary example. The ‘Demon Queen,’ as he secretly calls her. She might like Byleth then, since she’s another—

_Hmm, no. Not a thought to entertain. Moving on._

Before Claude can ask Petra to distract him with more cultural facts about Brigid, they’re visited by a couple of his _many_ ardent gossipers. The first few seconds, they kind of just stare at them as they work. Petra only smiles in return, but Claude gets impatient with their leers.

“Need something, fellas?” he asks nonchalantly.

“You look right at home, Riegan,” one of them says. “A stable boy up to his knees in horse crap. But this isn’t a place for a Brigid princess, is it?” they ask Petra, their tones _a lot _more honeyed than a few seconds ago.

“I am not minding. This was the chore I was assigned by Seteth, so I will complete it well.”

“And there’s not much left, from the looks of things. It’ll be dinner soon, and we were just heading over to get a spot in the line. You wanna join us? You can even invite Dorothea, since you’re with her a lot.” They share quick glances to each other and mildly lecherous smirks. Claude can guess what they’re thinking about, and a part of him wants to ‘accidentally’ dump a shoveling of poop on their shiny, expensive-looking leather boots.

“Just leave your partner there to finish up the work,” the second adds, turning his nose up slightly at him. “It’s what a ‘gentleman’ would do, so he won’t mind. Right, Riegan?”

He doesn’t get a word out before Petra replies, “No, this is a chore to do together. I cannot tell Seteth I completed it when Claude is the one who will have finished alone. It gets done much faster with a classmate, so I will be staying.”

“Yeah,” Claude says, shooing his hand at them, “so skedaddle on along so you don’t miss your trough of supper, boys.”

They glare at him, but don’t make a fuss. “We hope you have a nice dinner, Petra,” they say, before they leave, already mumbling profanities about Claude. He half wants to roll his eyes, but decides against it.

“I will not be leaving,” Petra tells him after a pause, “until we complete our work together. So have no worry, Claude.”

“Wasn’t worried, but thanks anyway.”

They spend the next few minutes in silence to clean up the last of the droppings in the stable. When it’s spick and span, they leave the bucket of feces outside to get some reprieve from the smell that already seems permanent within the wooden walls.

“Petra,” he starts, “you like studying here at Garreg Mach? People treating you nice?”

She nods. “I am learning so much about Fódlan. It will be helping me greatly when I take the throne in a few years. I am wanting to know all I can, so I can build a peace between the countries. And everyone has been nice to me, yes, and are very helpful.”

He’s glad for it, because the leers from those two guys reminds him a lot of similar looks Petra gets wherever she goes. Sylvain is lustful—that he knows very well—but his gazes are different when admiring the female form. It’s a kind of bumbling idiocy almost.

But the looks from some other guys makes him just a tad concerned about Petra’s naïveté. Claude has heard the comments she gets when she’s not around, or just out of earshot. One too many a time her skin tone has been described using food ingredients that he half wonders if people are itching to bake a cake on a subconscious level. It’s, for a lack of a better word, ‘less’ harmless (and he uses that term _very_ loosely) than the way he, Cyril, or Dedue have been described in passing by gossipers. But it’s still not at all better to any degree.

The judgement she gets is one that skirts on by without a care. But those particular roots makes it more difficult to upchuck and plant new kinds of seeds. The ones he hopes will kill the weeds and sprout something nutritious with a decent amount of longevity, if not eternal.

“I think that’s admirable,” he says instead. He could tell her all of this, but there’s a time and place for everything. However, he will keep a closer eye and an open ear from now on when he’s around her. “Peace between countries is something I can always get behind. When you’re done studying here, you gonna go back to Brigid?”

Her minute pause of silence is suspect. “Yes, I will see when I can return.”

And he’s sure of himself when he asks, “You can’t actually go back even if you wanted to, can you?”

“Not… right now. When I am finished here at Garreg Mach, I will ask Edelgard if I can be returning home. I hope the answer is yes; the faces of my family and friends back in Brigid are starting to fade a small amount. Their voices too. I do not want to forget them.”

He has a feeling he knows why she can’t go back whenever she wants. But the way she turns from him lets him know she’d rather change the topic. Well, this will be a good excuse to spend a little tea time with Her Imperialness soon.

Petra is part of the Golden Deer now, even if she’s the Empire’s charge (yet another word he uses loosely). The least he can do as house leader is give her hope that she can return eventually. Sooner than later. But right now, false hope would be almost cruel, so he just goes back to the task at hand instead.

  
  
  
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As soon as Gilbert had told Dimitri what happened, he had gone around the monastery to look for Sylvain. Hearing about the ravaged town, the innocents that were killed in the plundering, and the abducted women who were forced to endure terrible things during their time in captivity, made his blood boil.

The kind of anger he hasn’t felt in a considerable while.

But when he found his friend in the reception hall, he wasn’t able to get much of a chance alone with him. Surrounding him were a bunch of girls, cooing about how sympathetic they were that he had to kill his brother. And Sylvain played it up, feigned doleful eyes and all. Many of the girls were nestled close to him, some clinging to his arm or stroking his hair.

“Pardon my intrusion, ladies,” he says first, before asking, “Sylvain, might I have a word?” and not in his usual scolding tone when he feels like his antics need to stop. But in a genuinely concerned one.

Reluctantly, his friend got up from his seat and followed him over to a more sparse corner of the room. Sylvain wasn’t smiling, but he looked calm, at least. How much of it was a façade, Dimitri could only guess.

Clearing his throat, he started, “I heard what happened, about Miklan. That you had to kill him.”

“Yeah, I did. He was a piece of garbage, and I wasn’t going to let him hurt anyone else.”

“And I am glad that you brought justice to such a man. But Sylvain, if you wish to talk about—”

He rolled his eyes and gave a light scoff. “Your Highness, with all due respect, the best way to support me right now is to just let me do my thing. What happened was in the past, and I want it to stay there. Do you have anything else you’d like to tell me before I get back to my adoring fans?”

Dimitri frowned, but he couldn’t very well force him to confide his troubles. “No. I just—well if you need to speak about it, I am here for you, Sylvain. I know that we’re not as close as we used to be in childhood, but you are still one of my dearest friends, and I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He managed a smile, but something told Dimitri that it wasn’t genuine. “Anything else?”

Shaking his head, he said, “I am relieved that you’ve returned without severe injury. I know I get frustrated with you at times because of your… flirtatious ways, but I do wish the best for you always, you know.”

At that, his smile seemed to look more honest. Sylvain lightly patted his back. “Thanks, Your Highness. I always wish the same for you too. See you later.” Without another word, he returned to the group of awaiting girls, letting himself revel in their attention.

That was a few hours ago during lunchtime. And Dimitri hasn’t seen him since. Although, he heard he was going out on the town again, to ‘look for a good time’. It makes him sigh inwardly. He doesn’t know what to do with him when he gets like that. Nothing has worked, and he seems even more evasive now.

Although, Sylvain has racked up less complaints since he joined Byleth’s class. He wonders why that is. When she returns, he’ll have to ask her.

With classes done for the day, and having already eaten dinner, Dimitri decides to spend his evening at the training ground. When he gets there, he finds Edelgard practicing her axe swings against the dummies. She’s light on her feet and every thrust downward is harsh, nearly cleaving some of the posts clean in half. Hubert is lurking nearby in the shadows, watching from his spot adjacent to a column of the arcade.

“Good evening, Edelgard,” greets Dimitri. He bows, but she doesn’t return the gesture.

She takes another swing, and then wipes her brow with a towelette that Hubert hands her. Looking to him, she gives a slight nod. “Dimitri. Spending your evening out training again?”

“Yes. I had planned to just practice by myself, but if you’d like to join me, then I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Maybe some other time. I was almost finished up here.”

“Ah, yes, well that’s fine, of course. If you change your mind, I’ll just be over there.”

He picks out his own dummy and begins his warm-up swings. Sometimes he likes not having a partner to spar with since it gives him an opportunity to practice with a real lance instead of the dull ones. Tomorrow he’ll work on his swordsmanship. It wouldn’t do well for him to only utilize one type of weapon.

Maybe when Byleth returns, he can ask her if she’ll teach him some techniques. He’s heard from Ashe at how far he’s advanced. Sylvain has been improving too. He wonders if that’s why he survived the battle against Miklan, because Byleth taught him well. Or maybe Sylvain’s anger pushed him along to win. Anger that his brother could be so malevolent.

There were times, back as children, that he felt like Sylvain was a little afraid of his sibling. The trips to the Gautier estate were often joyous since all three of his friends would be there. But whenever his brother was around, Sylvain kept a little closer to them all, and wasn’t as playful until Miklan left the vicinity.

One particular instance he remembers clear enough. They were all playing in the snow, building snowmen and having a snowball fight. Sylvain wasn’t looking where he was throwing, and accidentally hit Miklan as the young man was turning the corner of the gardens.

Sylvain had apologized, but his eyes were wide, and his shoulders hunched. He looked so small then, despite being a head taller than the three of them at that age. Miklan only sneered, giving the rest of them a glance, before he went back on his path into the Gautier family castle. Dimitri had asked Sylvain if he was okay, and he just smiled, before patting together another snowball and throwing it at Felix, who then rushed forward to tackle him to the ground. Ingrid yelled at them when they barreled into the snowman she was finishing up.

The next time Dimitri visited, Sylvain had his arm in a sling, and a large purple bruise on his cheek. He said he fell off a horse during his equestrian lessons, but back then, part of Dimitri didn’t believe him. Even so, he was too young to draw any educated guesses as to what really happened.

Looking back now, Miklan probably caused those inflictions. Half the time they’d visit for playdates, Sylvain was recovering from physical injuries so he couldn’t really do much. A broken leg. A mild concussion. A hairline fracture on one of his ribs. There was even one instance of frostbite. Miraculously, he managed to recover from them well enough that his internal and external health wasn’t in jeopardy anymore. And somehow, the injuries also wouldn’t carry over as he grew.

Hearing about how malevolent Miklan was as a thief in the present day, and what he did to the town and its people, Dimitri is almost sure now that the man was always like that, even when he was younger. And Sylvain was his unfortunate first victim.

But he’s never asked him if this was the case. If he hasn’t shared these things with his childhood friends even after all these years, then he must either want to move on from them, or they didn’t really happen in the first place.

Dimitri wishes he’d been there at Conand Tower, if only to support Sylvain. There was no saving or even rehabilitating Miklan, according to Gilbert, from how the man fought. Even an arrest was quickly out of the question, but Gilbert wouldn’t explain why exactly. All he said was that Miklan was a monster among men, and he was a lost cause from the beginning of their confrontation.

Perhaps it was best that he didn’t go with them. He doesn’t feel like he would’ve been able to stomach the reality of the atrocities a single man was capable of. And he probably would’ve run him through with his lance multiple times for Sylvain’s sake. Get revenge for those instances he’d hurt his own family for what were most likely petty and selfish reasons. His own junior brother, still but a defenseless child.

An axe blocks his next swing, and it’s then he realizes Edelgard is there in front of him.

“You need to pay attention; I’ve been calling your name for a full minute.”

She’s looking at him with a firm calmness. The lavender of her eyes seems more distant, colder, than he remembers. It matches the silvery sheen of her snowy locks. He wonders how that happened. It’s been years since he last saw her, and he’s sure she doesn’t even remember him. No recognition whatsoever when he saw her that first day of arrival to Garreg Mach. Too much has changed for him to even ask if she does.

He quickly steps back. Edelgard gestures to the training dummy that’s now decimated into several pieces, many of which have holes in them. “Whoever you were thinking of must’ve done something truly horrendous to deserve such violence.”

“I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t even realize—”

“No, you didn’t. I suppose it’s a good thing I stuck around just to watch you.” Edelgard stares at him silently, her axe resting over her shoulder. “I can only assume that some of your fury was directed toward Miklan, was it not?”

“What makes you believe so?” he asks, even though she’s absolutely right.

“He was terrorizing people in Kingdom territories. And he’s been a nuisance for House Gautier for a while now. Until he was disinherited for not having a Crest, or so I’ve heard.”

“Yes, he was. But I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”

“Maybe not, but it caused him to commit all these crimes. Had he just been accepted for being Crest-less, he might’ve been an exemplary person.”

Dimitri plants the blade of the lance into the dirt beside him. “I understand where you’re coming from, Edelgard, but neither you nor I could ever know that. And Miklan was only recently disinherited, about two years ago. It was less about him having a Crest, and more about his behavior.”

She pauses, considering him, not breaking eye contact. He often wonders what’s going through her mind. She’s always so aloof, with only Hubert being a constant presence around her.

When she still doesn’t respond, Dimitri offers, “House Gautier places a lot of importance on Crests, but Miklan also wasn’t the best of people, from what I know. And I do not want to ask Sylvain about a topic that will most likely put him in a foul mood.”

“Whether Miklan was right or wrong to act out because of it,” she finally says, “there’s something to be said about such a man being able to turn criminals into loyal followers.”

“Edelgard, there is no wondering whether he was right or wrong; he was_ wrong_ to lash out in such a manner. He was wrong to steal, to murder, to do what he did to those women and—!” He takes a deep, silent breath. “Those bandits shared in his villainous mindset. Made more dangerous because of his leadership. Miklan still could’ve been a knight if he so wanted to, but he chose to act on his ill intentions instead. Chose to continue doing what he did to get him disinherited—”

“Are you saying that not having a Crest is grounds for disinheritance?”

Dimitri withholds the urge to sigh in frustration. “No, that is not what I’m saying! I’m just…,” he does sigh now, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t think that should be a valid reason to disinherit a relative, but Crests serve a purpose to an extent. In Faerghus, sometimes they’re favored over not having one. But there are still noble houses without a family Crest to call their own. Miklan not having one isn’t an excuse for his atrocious behavior, and the horrendous crimes he committed. There are plenty of noble lines without Crests in the Kingdom, and yet they don’t act so unlawfully.”

Lonato was one such person who had no Crest to his family name, and yet was a noble. But his frustrations didn’t have to do with Crests, and more about his firm stance that his belief in the goddess was more accurate than the one the central church preaches. Or, perhaps, that he felt his son was wronged. He’s still not really sure.

And back then, Edelgard was still trying to debate with him. Criticizing his black and white mentality on Lonato’s goals. That, from a pragmatic sense, she can see why he’d lead people into a cause he believed was just. That, if she had to make that difficult choice for the greater good, she could agree with sacrificing civilians if it meant a land would flourish as a result.

That day, he had stormed away from her like a petulant child. And he only stopped being angry at her ‘logic’ after Byleth agreed with his stance rather than the ‘nameless’ person he confided to her about. At least he had that assurance that he wasn’t mad for finding the whole thing ludicrous. But it’s these hard decisions that make him feel like he’s not fit to rule the Kingdom when the time comes. How would he even be able to make that choice so quickly? Or at all? It’s unthinkable.

But his Uncle Rufus also isn’t doing an adequate job at keeping stability either. The crime rates have risen, every year it seems like there’s less and less food, more poor are lacking shelter and damn him if only he wasn’t still too young to take the throne—if the whispers in his head would stop trying to claw at his cranium, stop their shadows from looming over him as he makes a valiant effort to sleep—but no, he owes it to them. Owes them to…

“I see,” she replies after another pause, bringing him back to attention. “Well, what a waste. He could’ve become a great commander if given the chance.”

“He _was_ given that chance; that is what I have been trying to say. And yet he chose not to take those alternatives. This is less about Crests and more of one’s own—”

The door to the training grounds opens, and Felix walks in. He only regards them for a few seconds before taking up his own corner for practice in swordsmanship.

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert says, walking up to her, “it is getting late. We ought to return to the dormitories. Your exhaustion from training is… apparent.”

“Ah. Yes, you’re right. I’ve lost track of time, haven’t I?” She looks to Dimitri. “If you’re going to keep training here, I suggest to not get lost in your own thoughts. Lest you accidentally mutilate bystanders.” She only gives him a nod before she’s walking away, not even acknowledging Felix as she passes him.

Hubert’s stare lingers on Dimitri before he turns sharply on his heel and follows Edelgard out of the training grounds.

A part of him is glad their debate was cut short. Well, there wasn’t really anything to debate, was there? Miklan was already rotten from the beginning, or at least, that’s what Dimitri can guess from his memories of the Gautier estate. But even if he feels that way, he still can’t know for certain if the man would’ve acted in that manner had his house not placed such a high importance on that magical sigil of blood.

But assuming things won’t brighten his mood, nor will it change what has already come to pass. Instead he picks up his lance, and walks over to Felix who is sitting down on the step bordering the small arena.

“Good evening, Felix,” he greets with a smile. Felix doesn’t return it. But he also doesn’t scowl like usual. That is, until he notices the dismantled training dummy. Then his brow furrows, and that usual look of displeasure appears again.

When he still doesn’t reply, instead going back to sharpening his blade with a whetstone, Dimitri tries, “I see you are here to train again. Would you like to perhaps spar with me?”

“Go away,” he replies, not looking up from his work. “Just looking at your face makes me wanna wretch.”

It stings, to hear him say that. A stark contrast from when they had lunch with Byleth in town. He’s surprised Felix didn’t fling more insults at him that day. He really doesn’t want to upset him more than he already apparently has.

So he gives a light chuckle, and says, “That mouth of yours makes you more and more like Glenn every day.”

The wrong thing to say, because now Felix looks up at him from his spot on the step. He’s entirely glaring now. Before Dimitri can apologize, Felix snaps, “Shut up. And stop walking around on your hind legs. You’re not fooling me.”

“I cannot fathom why you seem to hate me so,” he says, unable to keep smiling. “I did not mean to offend, honest. And I apologize if—”

“Fine. You want to spar?” Felix sets the whetstone aside, and stands up. “Then let’s get on with it. I don’t want to hear you talk when we do this. Got it?”

“Ah, I’d rather we discuss what’s troubling you. I don’t think sparring in such a state will be beneficial to either of us. The other day, when we were with the professor in town, well, I enjoyed that you were being so honest about me in a positive way and… not that I’m looking for compliments! But I liked that we could—”

Felix clicks his tongue. “The professor doesn’t need to know my business. That’s the only reason I wasn’t being ‘crass’ with you specifically. At the rate her emotions are progressing, she’d just fret over us and that’s not something I want to deal with from her. I joined her class to grow in skill, not to be coddled.”

“But then why—”

“The Dimitri I knew, the one who I didn’t hate, died during the Duscur tragedy along with my brother. The rebellion two years after that is when I first saw the boar take up his mantle.”

Oh, so that’s what’s been troubling him. A part of him feels a little pathetic for gaining a semblance of joy from hearing Felix call him by his actual name in the past tense instead of ‘boar’ like he usually does. “Yes… I suppose there is truth to that. It’s been that long since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it? Before the monastery I mean.”

“Not long enough, if you ask me.” Glancing to the ruined dummy, Felix adds, “I remember that day. Our first battle. Both in general, and together. Your debut as a commander, while I was still a squire. But the crispest memory to me from that time was how you suppressed the rebellion. The way you killed our enemies, made them suffer. I’ve never seen anyone so ruthless. And then there was that face—your expression. Like all of the world’s evil condensed into one person.”

His gaze is distant. “I’ll never forget it. An onslaught that just kept going, much like a rampaging boar. One that swallowed the old Dimitri whole, and has worn that new skin to this day.”

“I… see. I cannot deny that back then I had… done what I did. I only realized after the fact. That is by no means an excuse, of course. If it’s even the smallest of consolations, I have done whatever I could to temper that… creature.”

Felix is quiet, his glower ever constant. What else is Dimitri supposed to say? He knows he took those lives, in a state he wishes he hadn’t been in. But it’s too late to try and resolve it in a different manner. He only wishes he could somehow work toward earning forgiveness from Felix. But can something like that even be forgiven? Does he even deserve it in the end?

No. All things considered, he doesn’t.

“Apparently you’ve done a shit job at that,” Felix says, nodding to the ruined dummy. When Dimitri remains silent, Felix shakes his head. “Nothing to say, huh?” He inspects the sharpness of his blade. “I’ve changed my mind; don’t feel like sparring with you. But I also don’t care if you’re here. Just leave me alone, and we won’t have problems. Understood, boar?”

Dimitri only stares at him, still wanting to ask how he can possibly even begin to fix this. But how can you fix something like human slaughter done in a half-conscious state? Of not being strong enough to prevent tragedy when it was most dire? His hesitance seems to only make things worse, as Felix once again gives him a venomous stare.

“Try as you might to make yourself look like a kicked puppy, I won’t be easily swayed to give into your whims. Now either move out of my way, or I’ll make you.”

“Perhaps I should… retire for the night,” he finally says in a quiet voice.

“You’d be doing me a favor.”

“Ah, right. Then, I will take my leave,” he says, starting to walk away. When he turns back to Felix, he’s already practicing his swings. “Have a good night, Felix. I hope you sleep well after your training.”

Felix doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even look behind him. Such a gesture cuts into an old wound in Dimitri, but he tries his best to ignore it. He doesn’t want to anger his friend… or, well, the boy who was once his closest companion.

And so he leaves the training grounds, entirely doubtful he’ll get good rest tonight.

  
  
  
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Byleth and her students (along with Shamir, Cyril, and a battalion of knights) return to the monastery on the last day of the Verdant Rain Moon. Rhea, Catherine, and the remainder of the Knights of Seiros for this assignment are about a day behind.

After Anthony greets her and welcomes them back, the first thing she does is tell her students to go rest.

“You’ve all worked hard. Please take the remainder of the day off to recuperate from the travel. It’s still morning, so maybe sleep until lunchtime.”

“Those are orders I will gladly follow,” Linhardt says with a yawn.

“And you, Professor?” asks Ashe.

“I need to report in to Seteth that we’ve returned. And I have some other work to do. But please, take my advice, and rest. All of you,” she ends, looking to Raphael and Leonie. “No training until I say so. We’ll get back to it soon enough.”

“Professor?”

She and the others turn to the voice and find Sylvain on horseback. He grins widely at her and quickly hops off the saddle. “You’re finally back! All of you!” he exclaims. “Oh goddess, and just in time. _Please_ save us from Seteth!”

“Why, did the class get in trouble while I was gone?”

He makes a pained face. “No, Seteth is our _substitute teacher_.”

Linhardt gives an empty laugh. “Good thing I decided to not come back with you all. Just thinking about him as our instructor is making me exhausted. Gonna leave now and take that nap. Later.”

Byleth dismisses everyone else to follow his example. She in turn walks with Sylvain back to the stables to lodge away his borrowed mare. She can’t help but notice his shirt is half open, and she sees with sharp clarity that his chest and abdomen is in fact firm with muscle. A reminder that her methods must be working if he’s keeping up with his training to maintain this physique.

“Is there class today?” she asks.

“A half-day, yeah. He’s in the classroom right now with the others.”

“And why aren’t you?”

Sylvain hands off the mare to one of the stable hands. He scratches the back of his head. “Had a uh… late night rendezvous with a fair lady down in the city. Didn’t expect to sleep in this late, and now Seteth is gonna have my head. But if _you_ walk in with me, he’ll forget to punish me. Maybe. Fifty-fifty chance at best.”

He says something else, but Byleth is focused on a red mark partially hidden by the edge of cotton fabric. Sylvain notices, and teases, “My eyes are up here, Professor.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh there’s nothing to be sorry about, don’t worry. Like what you see?” he asks, smirking. Going to one of the buttons that’s still closed, he starts to undo it until he gets to the last one. “I can show you more if you’d like.” He inches open his shirt, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “I’ll even let you touch if you ask nicely.”

“I’m concerned about that rash there near your collarbone.”

Laughing, he says, “It’s not a rash. It’s a hickey.”

“Is that a kind of skin infliction?”

“Ah, right. Forgot that you’re still kind of nai—er, unknowledgeable about these things. A hickey is when—,” he chuckles lightly when Byleth starts to button up his shirt. It’d be unseemly for him to present himself to Seteth. Knowing that man, he’ll go on a long lecture about appropriate youthful conduct, “you don’t need to do that, Professor.”

“Can’t have Seteth catching you like this.” Girls might also faint at the sight of him, looking like he does. “Anyway, let’s get you to class. I need to… discuss with him about how he’s been handling my job in my absence.”

Sylvain follows at her brisk pace. Byleth walks even faster when she comes to the first floor of the Officers Academy, and pushes open the classroom doors with maybe a bit more force than necessary.

At the noise, all heads turn to her. And when they recognize her, she’s greeted with a collective, “Professor, you’re back!”

They jump out of their seats and all but run to her. Hilda is the first to throw her arms around Byleth, fake-sobbing into her shoulder. “Thank the goddess you’re here! We missed you so much!” And everyone else comments on similar feelings, looking as relieved as finding water in a dry desert.

“Teach!” Claude’s smile is bright, and that makes her feel warm again. “Welcome back!” He whispers, “Please save us from the green dragon over there. He’s impervious to my sword I call the ol’ Riegan charm.”

“Professor,” Seteth says, walking toward her. For whatever reason, all her students (except Felix), crowd behind her. “I am glad you made the trip back safely. Where are your other pupils?”

“I told them to rest. They’ve been through a lot, and are overdue for a long break. I’ve been informed that you were supervising my class while I was gone.”

“Yes. I read your lesson plan and tried to follow it to a certain extent.”

“He gave us _homework_,” Claude whispers again. His breath near her ear makes her stomach flutter for whatever reason. “Even though you wrote in your notes to not give us any.”

She doesn’t have time right now to ask him why he looked through her lesson plan, but it’s not a big deal. Not like her students being overworked after such a grueling mission. One Seteth wasn’t on, so he couldn’t possibly understand how deserving her class is of a fucking break now and again.

“You’re all dismissed for the rest of the day,” she tells them, and is rewarded with immediate cheering. “Classes will resume Monday.”

As everyone is gathering their things, Seteth gives her a look. “I was not yet finished with the lecture.”

Byleth ignores him. She waits until everyone is gone, and says good bye to all of them. She gets compliments on their way out, and responds to them with only nods of acknowledgement. Once the room is scarce, Byleth goes to the blackboard and erases the notes. Seteth sighs in the background.

“I looked over your lesson plan, and found it adequate. However, I made some adjust—”

“Who is the teacher for this class of the Golden Deer?”

He considers her for a moment. “You are, of course.”

“Then why is it that you think you know what is best for my students over the instructor who has been with them since day one? Knows of their strengths and weaknesses. Their limits. Their habits in academics and in training. Has protected and guided them on every mission so far.”

Seteth starts to gather his things from the—_her_ desk. When he still doesn’t respond, she continues, “I found out from Leonie that you allowed her to train as a pegasus flier without informing me first. You cannot measure her skill by just statistics on my weekly reports.”

“I was there for her first few lessons. I am not so detached from things that I wouldn’t also make sure she was ready for that advancement with my own eyes.”

“You still went behind my back and allowed her to do it. In fairness, I was thinking of having her train for that exam, but not until I was sure of it. And I would have been after a few more lessons on horseback.”

“Then it all worked out in the end, did it not?”

She withholds a frustrated sigh. One she wants to expel _loudly_. “Seteth, you are technically my boss. And while I will adhere to your suggestions during our meetings, I don’t like that you still act as if I’m a chicken running around without a head. I know my students better than anyone. We’re almost half-way through the school year at this point.”

Looking to him, she sees that he’s finished gathering his things. “And I know that after our assignment in Conand Tower, they needed a lot of rest, physically and mentally. That’s why my lesson plan was light, without homework or quizzes. I wanted to ease them back into some semblance of normalcy. But you didn’t give them that break, so now I have to readjust all over again.”

When he still remains silent, she says, “I know you don’t trust me. I know that you don’t even respect me. Respect my ability as a fighter, and as a general person? Sure. But not as an instructor. I’m trying my best, as good as a 20-year-old can.”

His eyes widen a little at the admission of her age. Maybe, in some way, this will help him back off. “I didn’t ask for this job, you know, but Lady Rhea appointed me here, and like every other job I’ve been on, I will complete it with satisfactory results. Except this isn’t a job to me anymore; it’s personal. I care about each and every one of my students. I want to make them into competent fighters, and to keep them safe all the while. But I can’t do that if all of my progress continues to be meddled with.”

Just as Seteth opens his mouth to reply, Byleth immediately adds, “If I need help, I’ll ask you. If my class is underperforming, then you can step in so they don’t. But until then, I ask that you please let me do this my way, the way that makes things progress with what I’ve got to work with. Or, if you’re that concerned and feel like I’d be better suited to another job, then discuss it with Lady Rhea. I won’t object.”

She knows he won’t. He respects Rhea’s opinion over everyone else’s. And considering that Rhea hasn’t once shown she distrusts Byleth’s ability, she’s sure that asking her such a thing would be out of the question.

“I understand,” he says calmly. “It was not my intention to make you feel inferior. And I do see that you are making significant strides in your students’ education. You are right, however, that I still find it absurd someone student-aged is responsible for being a teacher. But there have been no complaints of your methods besides that initial first week, and your class is not falling behind the others to the point where it is detrimental.”

Seteth gives a light sigh. “I… apologize for having overstepped my authority. I suppose as long as you keep up this quality of work, I have no room to complain. Your students appear to hold you in high esteem as well. There is a lot to be said about that, as even the most knowledgeable of instructors do not always earn the respect of their pupils. That is not an issue with your class. So, I will take my leave now, Professor Byleth. Excuse me.”

He walks away without looking back, and she’s left alone again. Byleth does quick rounds of the classroom to make sure everything is organized and clean before she’s locking the door and making her way to the dorms.

Tossing her bag on the floor of her room, she removes all armor and weapons, and flops down on her bed. A part of her was sure that Seteth would scold her for being insolent, but he was surprisingly reasonable.

Sothis manifests to sit on the edge of the bed. “Perhaps he is impressed with your boldness in confronting him.”

“Honestly, I don’t care. Maybe he just doesn’t want to bring it up with Rhea, so like me, he’s working with what he’s got. I try to understand his point of view, but it’s still frustrating on my end.”

“Yes, I know Byleth. But this event has passed, and you were able to overcome it. Take a nap now. Much like your students need to rest, so do you. It will not be the end of the world if you sleep for a few hours.”

For once, she doesn’t argue.

Byleth snoozes. For a long time, apparently, because when she’s woken up by knocks at her door, the sky is bright with the sun of late afternoon. Sothis isn’t there in her room anymore, so she must’ve gone back into her mental abode.

Upon answering the door, she’s greeted by Mercedes and Annette who are smiling wide at her.

“Professor, I’m so glad you’ve returned safely!” the young healer says. “I came to check on you earlier, but no one responded.”

Annette giggles a little. “Your hair is all over the place. Were you napping?”

“I was,” she says, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Oh no. Oh, we’re sorry for waking you! We can come back later!”

Shaking her head, she says, “It’s fine. What can I help you girls with?”

Mercedes lifts a basket in her grip. Byleth hadn’t noticed it. It’s covered with a pastel blue cloth embroidered with lace at the edges, and smells like baked treats. “I made you a little something, as a thank you for allowing me to tag along on the last mission. But also as a welcome back gesture. They’re shortbread cookies with fruity jam centers! I hope you like them.”

“I helped make ‘em!” Annette chirps. “Or, um, well I watched! And got to taste test, ha ha….” She looks down at her boots and then back up at Byleth. “Ah, b-but I… well if you don’t mind… I would—I mean it’s totally okay if—!”

“What Annie wants to ask,” Mercedes helps, “is if we could join your class. But the treats aren’t related to that. Even if we didn’t want to join, I still would’ve baked them for you.”

_You should receive the treats. They smell delicious. Ah, that reminds me, you slept through lunch. How unfortunate. Well, then you will have to eat twice as much at dinner._

_Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually the hungry one, and not me._

_No, it is all you. I am not the one who is always carrying around jerky or dried fruit in her pockets to munch on out of boredom._

“Is Hanneman okay with it?” she asks. “I don’t want him to feel like I’m stealing his students.”

Mercedes smiles. “He is; we’ve already asked him. But if you don’t want us in your class, I also understand. I wanted to join because I feel like I can be useful here. I would love for you to teach me, but I also want to be close by so I can watch out for you when you forget to consider yourself.”

“Um, I-I also think you can help me with my studies! I’m not just here because Mercie is! Lysithea is so advanced already in her reason magic skills, and I wanna be like that too!” Annette looks down at her boots again, clacking them together as she goes off on a tangent. “But I know you have plenty of students already so dividing your time even more might make things messier so maybe I can just ask Lysithea if she’ll study with me and Sylvain is good at a lot of stuff and he was more than happy to help me that one time I—”

She keeps talking as Byleth goes to rummage through her desk drawer. She takes out two crisp transfer forms and returns to the doorway where Annette is still chattering away. Mercedes is only watching her with a fond smile.

“—although maybe I _shouldn’t_ have been trying to fry so many pieces of bacon in the kitchen with that much oil but I know that Leonie cooks well and so does Ashe so they can also—huh?”

Byleth holds out the transfer forms to them, one in each hand. “Have Hanneman sign these, and attach the proper paperwork of your progress reports. Bring both things back to me by dinnertime. I’ll turn them in to Seteth before the end of the day.”

Mercedes smiles a bit wider and trades the basket for the paper. Annette lets out a long breath of a sigh, staring at the form with sparkling sky blue eyes. “Oooh, thank you so much, Professor! I’ll be an amazing student, I promise! I’ll sit in the front row, if there’s space!”

“I’ll do my best too,” Mercedes assures. “And to start, I’ll have all the paperwork for you by dinner. Say, how about you, Annie, and me eat together tonight?”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Annette says, bouncing on her heels. “Ah, um, at least if you want to, Professor!”

Byleth nods. “Of course. It’ll also give me a chance to speak with you girls more. Though I’ll be teaching you combat and academia, I’d also like to get to know you as people. We can talk more about my class’ structure then too.”

The two girls beam at her before bidding her a, “See you later!” not wanting to take up more of her resting time. Byleth shuts the door and sits down at the counter top in the back of the room. She unfurls the cloth covering the cookies. Each center is colorful, and the first one she takes a bite out of tastes like strawberries.

“Don’t eat so many in one sitting,” Sothis says, poofing into form on the windowsill. “You will ruin your appetite for later.”

“You just want me to eat a lot so you can taste every dish available tonight,” Byleth says, stuffing her face with four more cookies. _These are really good. Mercedes is a wonderful baker._

Sothis huffs, crossing her arms. “Is that so wrong? You enjoy food to immeasurable levels. I do not see how tasting everything on certain occasions is bad.”

“Never said it was bad.”

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, Sothis says, “Do not speak with your mouth full, for goodness sake! Look at that, you have crumbs all over here now!” She tries to wipe them away, but Byleth only feels a slight tingle where Sothis’ hand brushes along her skin. “Oh, well… how vexing to be in this spectral-like form. Then _you_ brush them away!”

While Byleth is happy that students still want to join her class, Mercedes won’t really have a lot of looking after her to do. Sothis is enough of a fretting nanny.

“The audacity! You would dare compare me, The Beginning, to a _nanny_?”

Byleth gives a non-committal, “Sorry,” before stuffing her face with another handful of cookies and wondering aloud what the menu will be for tonight’s dinner.

Sothis closes her eyes and sighs deeply, rubbing at her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to Friedkimchilover for guessing on their _first try_ that Dimitri would be the next POV character! I don't know _how_ you did it, but you were right. Lmfao He'll get a few more as the story goes on, but writing from his perspective makes me sad so... I might use his voice sparingly, ha ha. As I'm more of a Golden Deer fan, I don't feel like I quite grasp the Blue Lions kids sometimes, so to all you cub adorers out there, let me know if this was passable! I referenced his support with Felix, so I hope the lore is correct.
> 
> The conversation Dimitri had with Edelgard I actually borrowed from the one she had with Byleth in the game after you kill Miklan. The canon emphasizes the tragedy of (mainly) Dimitri and Edelgard just not quite being able to work together for a variety of factors despite wanting very similar positive change for Fodlan. I felt like giving them this conversation instead of leaving it with Byleth would work better with how I'm planning to tackle their strained relationship. I was conflicted though since Edelgard is distant with everyone except Hubert, so I wasn't sure if it made sense for her to even bring this up in passing with Dimitri. But, well... 😅
> 
> More Claudeleth moments to come in Ch 35, one that I'm excited to share for a few reasons.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	35. XXXV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Seteth is the unflappable substitute teacher for Byleth's class and has her students do chores of manual labor instead of training. While Claude and Petra are cleaning out the horse stables, they get visited by two of his gossipers. They don't stay long, but it's enough for Claude to wonder how Petra feels about being an outsider. He doesn't ask her, but does learn she wants to return to Brigid soon because of how badly she misses her home. Later in the training grounds, Dimitri and Edelgard have an argument over the justification of Miklan's actions, and whether or not him being Crest-less contributed to his malevolence. Dimitri's mood worsens after a conversation with Felix about why the latter apparently hates him and only sees a 'boar'. The next day, Byleth returns to the monastery and at last stands up to Seteth about his passive-aggressive displeasure with her being a teacher. To her surprise, he apologizes. After a nap in her room, Mercedes and Annette visit. They request to join her class and Byleth lets them. Though, she's mildly surprised students are still interested at this point.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXV ⧽  
  
An Evening in the Monastery

** _1st of the Horsebow Moon, 1180 ━_ **

Claude meant it when he told Byleth he’d help her feel more positive emotions rather than being the cause of negative ones. And what better way to start than on their leisure day of the new moon? There’s some interesting news he’s been wanting to share with her about a little rumor called ‘Abyss’.

He finds her fishing at the pond. A bucket to the right already has a few small fish flopping around inside.

“Afternoon, Teach!” he greets. “Mind if I keep you company?”

“Not at all,” she says without looking at him. “You might be bored just watching me fish, though.”

“It’s never a boring time with you around!” he assures lightly as he sits next to her. “I always learn something new, both in and out of the classroom. But once in a while, I’d like to teach you something new too. Which is why I’m here.”

She nods to continue, although still doesn’t face him. “There’s been whispers about a place called Abyss. Rumors of an underground city beneath Garreg Mach and even Mach Foothills.”

Now she finally looks at him, and he smiles. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Whispers, like I said. Uh, not that I’ve been routinely eavesdropping on people or anything!” he explains with a nervous chuckle. “Some people just don’t know how to whisper, so it’s easy to overhear things.”

“This sounds like something you’ll spend every waking moment trying to discover if it’s true.”

“Got me there, Teach! I do love a good mystery. But trying to solve it on my own isn’t as fun as it would be with a partner. And _what_ a coincidence! You just so happen to be my partner, for all intents and purposes. So, what’s say you and I do a little investigating?” he asks with his most charming smile and a wink.

This is _not_ just an excuse to spend time with her alone. And it’s _not_ because he can’t stop thinking about that supposed long hug she shared with Sylvain. He’s been wanting to uncover the mystery of Abyss even before he knew that little incidental tidbit.

Byleth is hesitant for a moment, looking down at the wooden deck between them. Claude adds, “It’ll be a nice break from everything we’ve had to go through so far. More specifically for you. You deserve to do fun things too, Teach.”

“Fishing is fun.”

“I meant like, things besides fishing. Things where you use your legs more.”

“Well, I guess I can. I don’t have anything planned for today.” She pulls up her line and detaches the bait, tossing it into the pond.

“Teach, if you really don’t want to, then it’s fine. I’ll stay here and just chat with you a while for however long you want. Then I’ll go and look more into this by myself.”

“Ah, no it’s okay Claude. Really. I just need to figure out why it’s warm first.”

He makes an amused hum. “Well, it’s late afternoon, and it _is_ still the tail end of summer. I figure the weather won’t cool down until next moon.”

“That’s not what I…,” but she doesn’t finish her sentence, instead choosing to stand up with the bucket in hand. “I’d like that. To solve this mystery with you. You’re right that I do need to do things other than chores and fishing. But first I want to drop these off at the dining hall.”

“Of course!” he replies, hopping to his feet. “Let’s get an early dinner, and then be on our way. We want as much daylight as possible!”

After grabbing a quick bite to eat, Claude suggests they head to the library first. They go up to the second floor to start looking. When he’s sure there’s no one else around, he starts telling her of all he knows about the place called Abyss.

Apparently some folks don’t like that it exists, for whatever reason. Presumably because it’s filled with criminals and ne’er-do-wells. Or so he’s heard. Byleth questions why he’d want to explore such a potentially dangerous place.

“Teach, after what we went through in Conand Tower, burly thugs and shady peddlers are like little babies in comparison. Besides, I’ll have you there to protect me. Not that I can’t look after myself, but it’s always nice to have someone watch my back. I’ll keep yours safe too.”

“Yeah, I know. Guess I’m just more cautious now of all of my students since then. You included.” She goes to one of the shelves nearby, running her finger along the spines of the books. Byleth grows strangely quiet, and if the lighting in here wasn’t so terrible, he’d even think she looks a little… pink in the cheeks. Is it really that warm inside at this time of day?

They search in silence for a while after that. Claude gets a little distracted finding other unrelated titles in his browsing that he spends a while skimming through. Byleth, however, seems to read the spine of each and every book, at least the ones that are within reach.

“Do you think people will keep the secret about what we saw?” Byleth asks, pulling a book out from one of the lower shelves and idly flipping through it.

“About when Miklan tried to use the Relic? Maybe. I know our class doesn’t care to remember such a horrible thing, but I can’t stop thinking about it, honestly. Do you think he really believed he could use the Lance of Ruin? I bet he just wanted to get his hands on it for leverage or something.”

“Hard to say. Maybe he couldn’t use its full power before—just used it as any regular lance. And when he _did_ try…”

“Yeah, I doubt he expected to turn into a monster. Wonder if that represents another aspect of Heroes’ Relics. What a strange and terrifying power.”

Does the Sword of the Creator also have that kind of power? From what he’s been able to read about it thus far, it’s the strongest Relic weapon of them all. Does that mean, should someone unqualified try to use it, they’ll turn into the most deadliest of monsters? It’s a good thing he didn’t end up finding it on his own, then. He’s still not sure what counts as using its power to the fullest. How would one even know they’ve reached that point?

“Stories of misfortune have followed the Heroes’ Relics since ancient times,” comes a voice from behind them.

Claude jumps, and Byleth jolts only slightly. He notices she steps closer to him, almost as if she were going to defend him from the intruder into their little bubble of privacy.

Tomas smiles at them, saying, “I did not mean to startle you. I was simply doing my usual rounds when I happened to overhear your conversation.”

“I wouldn’t say _startled_,” Claude replies, “so much as you caught me by surprise. And that’s not easy to do. Then again, I should’ve expected to see our librarian in his… library.”

“Do you know a lot about Relics?” asks Byleth, finally stepping a little further from Claude. Not that he minds. She can be as close as she wants. Just in case.

“I know some things,” Tomas says. He goes on to explain that according to legend, Nemesis was corrupted by evil because of the Sword of the Creator. Other Heroes also lost themselves to the mysterious power of the Relics by overusing them which, as a result, made them turn into creatures not at all dissimilar to Miklan. Their souls were twisted and warped, too far gone to retain their human consciousness.

Frowning, Tomas looks up at the tall bookshelf before him. “There used to be a great many records regarding the dark history of Relics. A shame that they’re so rare now. Finding one is nothing short of a miracle.”

“Used to be?” echoes Claude.

Nodding, Tomas looks back to him. “They have been destroyed all across Fódlan. Stripped from their shelves, including ones that resided in this very library.”

If Tomas could overhear them, then that means others might too. Very carefully, Claude says, “You make it sound like the church is covering up the truth.”

Not that he’s at all surprised. Rhea _did_ want them to keep quiet about what happened in Conand Tower. Although he’s sure sooner or later it’ll slip out of someone’s mouth. Maybe in a drunken stupor, or a careless verbal exchange done on the daily.

Tomas has never been this chatty with him before, though. And he doubts Byleth has ever really held a conversation with him either.

“Hey, Tomas… why are you telling us all this? Not that I mind. Just curious.”

The old man gives a slight chuckle. “It seemed like you were searching for answers about the Relics.” That wasn’t actually what they were doing initially, but… “What is a librarian if not a guide in the search for knowledge. And not only have you been searching, but you’ve been doing so for a considerable while now. No one has been browsing these shelves quite as long as you two have been. I would suggest you stop before someone less… tolerant, notices.”

With one last smile, he bids them a good evening and walks away, cane trembling as he guides himself down the stairs at the far corner of the second floor.

“That was weird,” Byleth comments.

Claude can’t help but utter a slight laugh. “I gotta work on being more alert, even in a place like this. But I really didn’t notice we’ve been here that long. Maybe he thought it was strange since you normally don’t spend more than a few minutes in the library. Alone in a semi-hidden area with a student, no less.”

“Probably thought we were doing something inappropriate—which we weren’t,” she adds quickly. “Really wish the older adults would give me more credit.” Before he can even tease her about impropriety, or get a playful flirt in, she looks to him, asking, “Why do you spend so long in the library?”

“Love to read.”

Byleth stares at him until he relents. “What? I do! Although, I suppose to the faculty, it is curious that someone my age spends so much time in here. Even the most avid of bookworms checks out a few and then leaves. But unlike them, I can’t afford to stop.”

“And that’s because…?”

He grins. “Oh Teach, you don’t _really_ expect me to tell you something so personal just like that, do you?” Claude steps closer to her, and she doesn’t try to distance herself. Although, her hands do twitch a little at her sides. Interesting. “But,” he says, leaning a bit into her space, “I wouldn’t mind sharing if you were to tell me some of your secrets in exchange….”

The question of telling her about his life goals has already come up before in his hours of pondering what the next best step is to get her to trust him. If she doesn’t trust him, then she won’t believe in his goals. And if that doesn’t happen, then he’s right back where he started since coming to the monastery.

“I’m 20.”

He blinks a few times, and leans back a bit. “You… are?”

Byleth nods. “Just before we went on our last mission, I had a chat with my father.” She tells him about her mother, Sitri, and that she’s buried in the monastery graveyard. About how her mother died giving birth to her a little over two decades ago. That Jeralt told her she’s almost the spitting image of the young nun.

“So I _was_ right; you _are_ around our age. Just slightly older than me. That means you’ll be 21 near the end of this moon, huh?”

It’s then he remembers that the secret she just shared is about her dead mother. The love of Jeralt’s life. And how Claude told Byleth that he’d try to help her make more positive memories. Completely ignoring something so sensitive is definitely not the way to go about crafting a friendship.

“Ah, that was a little tactless of me. I’m… sorry about your mother. Can’t even imagine how Jeralt felt when that happened.”

She closes the book in her hand, running her fingers along the back cover. “I didn’t know Sitri, so I’m in a… weird place. I want to mourn her, but how can I mourn someone I never knew? My father did his best to raise me by himself, so, I don’t even know if I mourn not having a mother figure in my life. Because I don’t know what that’s like in the first place. Though I can imagine it’s nice.”

His own mother isn’t really all that affectionate, but his life probably would’ve been a lot harder if she wasn’t there in his corner, either. That’s not exactly the same for the general population who aren’t ‘outsiders’ though, is it?

This time, he hears it when someone is walking toward them. Although, he is surprised to see that it’s Edelgard.

“Ah, Your Imperialness!” he greets. “How do you do this fine summer evening? And where is your ever stalwart shadow? Are you sure you can be allowed to roam about as you please without your ghoul floating behind you?”

“Hubert is not my keeper,” she replies, giving him a look. “He frets too much, so I all but assigned him the night off. And don’t call him a ghoul,” she adds dismissively, almost as if an afterthought. Looking to Byleth, she says, “It just so happens that I was browsing for a book to read before I returned to my room, when I overheard your little conversation.” Geez, exactly how loud have they been talking? “Since this seems to be an exchange of secrets, might I divulge one of my own?”

Normally, Claude would jump at the chance to know more about the prim and proper princess. But she’s not gullible like a lot of the aristocracy here (or stupid), and he can’t get a good read on her yet. Hasn’t really since they started the school year. Much like him, he assumes she’s looking for something specific. Why would she just so happen to be nearby at this moment? Could she also be searching for Abyss?

“Are you sure you want in on our little chat?” Claude asks. “Do you even think you could survive such a wager? I’d say you’re the least likely to share secrets out of everyone at the academy.”

Edelgard manages the slightest of smiles. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment. After all, you’re easily the student with the most secrets.”

Maybe so, but that’s not information she needs. “I’m afraid you overestimate me,” he dismisses with a shrug. “In the end, my secrets don’t amount to much. So,” he looks back to Byleth, “about what Jeralt—”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Claude.”

“I’m not. We’re still talking about secrets.”

“Yes, we are. Yours, specifically.”

“Funny, because I don’t remember it being my turn yet.”

He realizes too late he should’ve just escorted himself and Byleth out of the library when he had the chance. Edelgard crosses her arms, leaning her weight on one leg. “While it is true the professor has interesting things to say, I’m sure she’d like to hear more about her house representative.”

Byleth looks to him now. “I really don’t mind shar—”

“Who is your father, Claude?” starts Edelgard. “And why did you appear so suddenly, as if from nowhere? Duke Riegan’s eldest son died in an accident. His eldest daughter Tiana has also been missing for over two decades. And his other family members were tragically lost in various ways. He would’ve been the last in line of House Riegan, something that would’ve undoubtedly shaken the Alliance. But then, you showed up.”

“Someone’s done their homework,” he remarks. And he doesn’t like that she has. Or that she’s capable of knowing so much. Of stepping closer to the truth of how he came to be here in Fódlan.

“Why were you claimed by House Riegan without your mother being present? Does that mean Tiana still lives? What brought you to the monastery when you could have studied in Derdriu?”

_Was ‘Why do you look like that?’ going to be your next question, I wonder?_

This is not how he wanted to spend his evening. It was supposed to be just him and Byleth, uncovering a good ol’ mystery or two without interruption. To give them both a break from everything they’ve been through so far. To show Byleth that there’s more than just teaching she can do around here. Have a bit of fun now and again.

And for him to forget a little about the fact that some people look his way as if he doesn’t truly belong.

“Claude doesn’t have to answer to you,” Byleth says firmly, stepping closer to his side.

Okay, he’s going to pretend it’s not a little endearing that she’s still defending him. And he’s _also_ going to pretend he doesn’t remember that it’s fact she gets upset when people don’t give him a break for whatever reason. That this makes her twice as more likable to him than when he first met her months ago.

He also doesn’t want to draw more attention to himself than necessary, especially since it’s pretty obvious that where they are can be heard by other people browsing the library shelves.

“Ah, to be surrounded by women as lovely as flowers, only to be pricked by their thorns,” he says with a wink at Edelgard, who only gives him a hard stare. But he does note the slight color in her cheeks. So, the princess doesn’t mind being flirted with. Good info to tuck away for later.

“It’s alright, Teach,” he tells Byleth. “I don’t wanna prolong this conversation any more than is necessary. Okay Edelgard,” he crosses his arms, and shrugs, “I’ll bite. Like many students enrolled here, I have a goal I’m working toward. A dream, really. But like with a lot of things, you need something tangible to make that happen. Such as money, material resources, or power.”

“And which one of those is what you need, Claude?”

“Well, my dream’s pretty selfless,” at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself, “but it’s also considerably hefty in terms of what I need to do to get there. Which means I require power to make it a reality. To the bitter end, if need be.”

_Hope it doesn’t come to that, though. Gaining things by force almost never ends well._

“By attending school at Garreg Mach,” he continues, “I figured I could find some way to achieve it, in whatever form I happen to find. Something, or someone. If the latter, then I’d hope that someone would be willing to help me on my path that I’ve decided to embark on.”

Byleth is still staring at him. He casts a quick glance to her, only to see her expression is neutral as always. “Sooo,” he continues, regarding the Imperial princess again, “is that enough to satisfy your curiosity, Edelgard?”

“A bit.”

“Then what do you say?” he asks with a grin. “If you promise to help me achieve my dream no matter what—and I really mean, no matter what—then I promise to tell you anything. Every. Last. Thing.”

Her hard stare softens a bit, and she shakes her head. “I’ll have to decline. I have my own dream to tend to, which is a similar reason to why I’m here at the monastery. Though I don’t know what your dream is, I just hope it doesn’t interfere with mine.”

Claude stretches, cracking his back. “Then I guess you won’t be getting any more secrets from me, princess. What a shame.”

Byleth continues to stand beside him, quiet, as she usually is. He wonders what’s going on in her mind. Looking to her, he asks in the most casual way he possibly can, “What about you, Teach? I’ve got more than a few secrets just ripe for the pickin’ if you wanna help me see this dream through.”

She considers him before glancing at a spot on the floor. Her hesitance isn’t assuring, and it sort of puts a damper on his mood. So, he’s not quite there yet with her, huh? He still needs to do more to earn her trust—her will, to help him.

“If it’s a noble dream…,” she finally starts, “then I can see myself helping you.”

And maybe his smile is a bit _too_ wide, since Edelgard is staring at him now. Looking between them. “Is that so? I’ll keep that in mind. But now isn’t the time—or place—to discuss this. You are still my Teach, after all.”

“Your Teach…,” she mumbles to herself, deciding to put back the book.

Okay, maybe that was _too_ comfortable of wording. And considering he did say they’re starting over on being friends, it might’ve been better to say ‘professor’. ‘My Teach’ sounds… a little more on the intimate side. But, she’s never complained about it. She also said that he’s the only one allowed to call her that, so maybe he’s just overthinking things.

Edelgard doesn’t seem to care. Or maybe she does, and it’s why she asks Byleth, “Professor, what is your idea of a noble dream?”

She shrugs. “It’s pretty broad, the term ‘noble’. At least the adjective version. I guess I see it as wanting to help others because it’s the right thing to do, not because it’s the accepted thing to do. Not everything that’s accepted is noble, and not everything that’s noble is accepted. I’m still not sure what that really means to me, but, when we get there…”

Turning to Claude, she meets his eyes. “I’m sure by then I’ll have made up my mind. But Claude, you don’t need to share things with me if you don’t want to. I don’t want to force anything out of you. That’s not a solid foundation for a friendship. These things have to come naturally. Or… at least that how I’ve understood it.”

“Ah, yeah you’re right. Guess me making this into an exchange was a little misguided,” he admits.

“You two aren’t… friends?” Edelgard asks. “It’s a little worrisome if the house leader and their instructor don’t get along.” Yet why is she smiling? She doesn’t at all seem worried about how well he gets along with Byleth.

Though, he’d feel the same if he were her, honestly. More opportunities for Byleth to agree to the instigator’s whims. And he’s learned from his mistakes. He’s not going to let her slip from his grasp again, not when he’s found sure footing at last.

“We hit a little road bump, but all is well now. Right, Teach?”

She nods. “I still don’t quite understand the concept of friendship, but Claude is helping me get there.”

Just as Edelgard starts saying she can help too, Claude escorts Byleth by the shoulders past the princess. “Well we gotta get going since it _is_ late, so you’ll have to excuse us, Your Imperialness.”

“Hold on a moment!” she says, following them down the stairs. “_You_ are free to retire to your room,” Edelgard pursues them at a brisk pace as Claude tries to out-walk her with Byleth still being steered across the first floor of the library, “but I am not finished speaking with the professor.”

“Ah well, there’s always tomorrow, Edie,” he dismisses, leading Byleth down the stairs to the ground floor of the faculty building.

“Do _not_ call me that,” he hears Edelgard say as she hurries after them a few steps behind. “Only Dorothea is allowed.”

“_Oh_? Now isn’t that cute? Is she special to yo—”

Byleth plants her heels on the tiled ground, causing him to crash into her back. But she doesn’t even fall over, although he does end up landing on Edelgard who shoves him off her as they scramble to stand again.

“Teach, why’d you stop?”

Pointing to the end of the hallway, she says, “Someone’s lurking over there.” The two of them stand on either side of her to see a shadowy figure loitering around the corner of the reception hall. They’re not dressed like a student, or anyone of the faculty or clergy. Their garbs look more akin to a bandit’s.

And that’s never good news.

“For someone trying not be suspicious, they sure suck at it,” Claude comments. “They stand out like a sore thumb.”

“Perhaps we should intervene,” suggests Edelgard.

Byleth starts to approach him quietly, but the stranger is already running out the door once he sees even the slightest movement. Then she takes off on a sprint, and Claude has no choice but to follow her. Edelgard tags along, keeping up with them.

A mysterious stranger this late at night? When most of the monastery is already getting ready for some shut eye? Yeah, this dude is definitely up to no good.

He runs across the lawn of the Officers Academy, and past the training grounds where a sweaty-looking Dimitri is exiting, trying his best to close the door softly. He does a double-take as the man whizzes past him, and then he’s staring wide-eyed at the three of them. “What is—?”

“No time to talk, Your Princeliness!” Claude says.

It does nothing to shoo him away, as then Dimitri turns their trio into a quartette. Edelgard stops them, yanking Claude back by the collar of his shirt, and doing the same to Dimitri.

“_Wait_, what are we running around for? We have no idea who that man is, and we also don’t have our weapons on us, except for Dimitri and the professor’s dagger.” It’s good that she thinks that, since Claude has a little pouch of poisons on him and his own less impressive dagger hidden in the pockets of his blazer.

“Yeah, and now we probably lost him,” Claude points out, wiggling out of her grip. He notices Byleth isn’t anywhere to be found. “Wait, where’s Teach?”

“She might’ve gone on ahead to look,” Dimitri suggests.

“Well we can’t leave her all alone, now can we?”

They’re in the narrow pathway behind the first building of the dormitories. There’s a small tower in the middle that leads to the other building that snakes down the mountainside. But that person was too big to be a student, so they were most likely an adult.

Ignoring the two others, Claude continues on, not really caring if they follow him or not. Byleth has to be around here somewhere. And he does find her near the decorative hedges on this side, looking to a shadowy corner obscured by ivy.

“Don’t go running off like that, Teach.” Claude stands beside her, looking at the hidden entryway to… wait, a hidden entryway? “And whaaat do we have here?”

“I heard rustling,” she starts, “so I assume he brushed through the ivy to go down there. If you stare hard enough, there’s a dim light at the end. I would’ve missed it had it not been for that.”

The hole is large enough that an average sized person could walk through it comfortably. But it’s not an often trekked path, considering there aren’t any torches. It seems like it was just dug out after removing the brick from the ground and the corner of the wall. The ivy might’ve been planted here on purpose. To think the knights would’ve overlooked something like this.

Unless…

“Teach, I think we did it. Found it at last, and a coincidence too.”

“Found what? Abyss?”

He grins at her. “Yup. I mean we can’t know for sure unless we go down there.”

Edelgard and Dimitri catch up to them just as Claude starts brushing away the vines. _Really hope there aren’t any spiders in these things_. Byleth helps him move the plants out of the way, and the hole becomes much clearer to them. The light is a little brighter too.

Dimitri walks up to examine their discovery. “This looks like a tunnel. You think the intruder could’ve gone down there?”

“Pretty sure it’s likely,” Claude says, dusting his hands off. “Teach said this is where he went, and I believe her.”

“I do too,” Edelgard agrees. “It actually reminds me of something. Something I’ve heard whispers about, but never cared too much to look in to. Tales of passages snaking beneath Garreg Mach. This must be one of the entry points.”

“Really?” Dimitri glances at her, eyes a little wide. “I did not think… well, say you are correct. We have no idea where it leads. As it is, it’s currently late, and we are laughably underprepared should we find trouble.”

A part of Claude is happy he most likely found an entry into Abyss. But his version of the possibility was just him and Byleth exploring the place. Not him, Byleth, and two stuffy royal heirs who just coincidentally happened to be there.

Not that he, like, is necessarily angry that he can’t be alone with Byleth or anything. Or that it means something in the first place that his fantasy of going on a little adventure only included her. But he is getting kind of miffed he can’t ever seem to spend time with her alone anymore.

Their friendship is going to go at a sluggish pace at this rate. And that’s not something he can continue tolerating. Not now that he’s been teased that she might actually be on board with helping him achieve his dreams. If they’re not friends, that won’t ever happen.

_Time to improvise._

“Oh no,” Claude starts, faking a gasp, putting a hand to his chest. “Oh you’re right! There’s no telling what we could find! Terrible danger. Wicked creatures. Unspeakable _smells_?!”

Dimitri gives him a baffled look. Edelgard gives him an unimpressed one, a hand at her hip and mouth in a thin line.

“No no, the risk is simply _too high_, Your Highnesses! We can’t have anything happening to the crown heirs. Two-thirds of Fódlan would lose their minds! I must humbly insist that you wait here, where it’s safe, and smells nice!”

He quickly (and discreetly) grabs Byleth’s hand nearest to him. She stares at where they’re connected, and blinks once. “Meanwhile,” he starts, leading her away from them, “Teach and I will track down the bandit-shaped person. If we don’t return, do me a favor and call for the knights, will ya? Alright, later! Good night!” He waves over his shoulder. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

His heart skips a beat when Byleth entwines their fingers together without a word. He doesn’t look at her, not trusting he won’t be a little pink in the face. Not that there’s any _hidden_ or deep _meaning_ that he’s holding her hand. It’s just a good way to guide them down the tunnel without losing the other.

Yeah.

They only get a few steps ahead before Edelgard catches up to them. “That is _quite_ enough.” She gives a glance to their joined hands, and narrows her eyes, looking back up at him. “As though we would allow you to make that call on your own. It’s far too dangerous with so little information about the suspect. We’ll come along as well. Right, Dimitri?”

“Yes, of course,” he says with a smile. Well, so much for his solo adventure with Byleth. “If it was indeed a thief, we must not allow them to get away with their crime. Considering what happened at the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth, vigilance is paramount.”

Claude sighs lightly, and shrugs. _Stubborn ones, these two_. “Alright, fine. Tag along if you insist. Just don’t come crying to me if we all meet a terrible fate, deal? I was trying to spare you from a potentially gruesome end.”

“Speaking of which, it’d be a good idea to arm ourselves,” Edelgard says. “Dimitri is the only one with a weapon on his person.”

“Perhaps we should regroup back here once we’ve all taken a little time to prepare,” the prince says, stealing a quick glance at Claude’s hand still nestled in Byleth’s. “Or round up a few more people to help track this man down. What do you think, Professor?”

“I don’t want anyone else risking danger,” she says. “But it’s true that we should at least have our usual weapons on us. Although, the knights will start their patrol soon, so, we might not be able to come back here. For all we know, this hole will be closed up by tomorrow morning.”

“Teach is right,” Claude agrees. “There isn’t a moment to lose. So Dimitri, why don’t you and Edelgard go and borrow some weapons from the training grounds while we stay here to guard the suspicious tunnel?”

“But then it would just be you and the professor alone,” he points out.

“Do you not trust Teach to hold her own?”

“No, no of course I trust her to. It is just… ah, there!” He waves over to one of the stairways that leads to the grassy walkway of the first floor dorms. Passing by are Hilda, Linhardt, and Ashe, the latter carrying a few weapons that appear like they just got done being polished.

Upon noticing the prince’s frantic waving, the three walk over to them. Dimitri smiles, looking a little too relieved. “What a coincidence to have found you all. But what were you doing this late at night?”

“Linhardt here was caught trying to sneak into the treasure vault again,” Hilda says with a roll of her eyes. “Seteth was so mad, and I happened to just be _walking_ right by that I got scolded too! I didn’t even do anything!”

_Yeah, exactly. I’m sure Seteth’s got a backlog of punishments for you because of how much you slack off. Caught him in a bad mood, probably._

“We’ve been cleaning weapons as punishment for _hours_,” she whines.

“Then why is Ashe with you?” Edelgard asks.

“I wanted to help,” he says with an angelic smile. Of course he did. The guy’s a sack of sugar. “It looked like a lot, and since I didn’t have anything to do, really, I felt like they could use an extra pair of hands.”

“You don’t say?” Claude looks between the three. “Just outta curiosity, why is it that you look dirtier than they do? They weren’t, I dunno, loafing around to let you do all the work for them, right?”

“Oh _absolutely_ not!” Hilda defends sweetly. “I made sure we all took adequate breaks and brought snacks for us every so often! Linhardt was… making sure we had enough rags and things to clean everything until these weapons sparkled!”

“Yeah,” Linhardt says, not even trying to fake it, “I was.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like a lot of tedious work.”

“It definitely was,” Hilda agrees. “But when we cooperated, we got everything done!”

“I was going to take these last weapons back to the training grounds,” Ashe says. “And since Hilda’s room and Linhardt’s were on the way, I decided to just escort them there.”

“How very convenient for them.”

Yawning, Linhardt nods. “Yeah so, if we’re done chatting, I think I’ll go now. Got a feeling a lot of something is about to happen with you four, and I want no part of it. Bye, goodnight.”

Edelgard grabs the back of his shirt just as he turns around. “Stop right there, Linhardt.” The mage groans, almost whines. Edelgard’s smile is a little too playful, though Claude can’t say it’s a bad look for the normally icy princess. “Your bad luck is our good fortune—you’re coming with us.”

“Of course I am….”

“And considering you don’t look the least bit exhausted, Hilda,” Claude starts before she can just run away, “you’d be up for a little adventure, wouldn’t you?”

“Claude, my dear ol’ Claude.” She walks up to him, putting a dainty hand on his upper arm, batting her eyelashes. “You know I normally do my share of things, and I do a lot of stuff that you ask of me.” Hilda brushes off lint from his sleeve. “But I _really_ should be go—”

“No excuse is gonna get you outta this,” he whispers with a grin. “Unless, of course, you mention to Seteth that you had a little outside help with your punishment chore from someone too sweet to say no, hmm? Because, in passing, it _might_ slip out from some random individual the next time the holy man himself is within the vicinity.”

Hilda backs away, pouting at him, brow furrowed. Then her eyes catch sight of his hand hold with Byleth, which he quickly lets go of. But it’s too late. Hilda’s pout slowly stretches into a grin of her own, meeting his eyes again with a glint that he _really_ doesn’t like. The kind that tells him he’s gonna owe her a big favor soon. Very big.

“Weeell, okay. I’ll tag along just this once. For you, Claude.”

“Er, actually, that’s fine. With just Linhardt, we should be—”

“Oh no no! I can’t let my classmates go into the unknown all by themselves! What kind of girl would I be otherwise? I’ll be here to cheer you all on.”

Dimitri goes to Ashe, removing some of the weapons that the poor kid has been struggling to carry while they’ve been talking. “You too as well, Ashe. Only if you’re not tired, that is. I figure you must be a little after having done so much already.”

“That’s okay, Your Highness. If you really need my assistance, I’d be happy to do what I can!” Though he’s smiling, Ashe’s stare loiters just the slightest second at where Byleth’s hand rests at her side, between her and Claude.

“You three have our gratitude,” Dimitri says, passing out a weapon to everyone. Including a bow and quiver of arrows for Claude. “Now then, let us be on our way. I’ll explain what’s happened meanwhile.” Looking to Byleth, he asks, “Are you ready, Professor? Surely, this little group should suffice to at least investigate for a short while.”

“I think this is enough people, yes,” she replies, weighing a steel sword in her hand. “But stick together. We don’t know where this goes yet.”

Claude shakes his head. “Well, the more the merrier, I suppose.” He does not, in fact, suppose that. “Let’s just hope we’re not all marching to our doom. Was serious in trying to save you all the trouble.”

“I don’t like doom,” Linhardt comments as Edelgard drags him into the dark tunnel.

“Oh stop it. We will not meet our fates down here,” she assures. “Not with the professor beside us.”

Ever protective, Byleth is at the front of the group with her sword drawn, activating her Crest in hand as a light source. Linhardt refuses to move, so Edelgard is forced to carry him on her back with visible dismay. Claude is at the rear of the group to cover them, although he knows Hilda is here too for an entirely different reason.

“Save us all the trouble, huh?” she starts quietly, low enough so it’s just between him and her. “But then that would mean only you and Professor Byleth would be making this little adventure.”

“Less people to worry about safeguarding.”

“And less people to take her attention away from you, hmm?”

Claude ignores her, because first of all, she’s wrong. He’s not trying to hog up all of Byleth’s attention, but it’d be nice to just hang out with her now and again without other people around. Really, he was doing this for her, to give her a break from watching over students. And now, she’s back to doing just that.

_One of these days, I really gotta make sure she has at least a few hours to herself. Her birthday is coming up, so maybe by then, I’ll have figured something out._

When they reach the end of the tunnel, they come to a series of passageways and gates. Torches are lit all over, and the ceiling reaches so high upward that it fades into the darkness. He’s sure there’s almost no real ceiling at all.

“Just how far down are we?” he asks to no one in particular. “What are these passages even for? A dungeon or something?”

Edelgard shakes her head, glancing around. “No, I don’t believe so. And it doesn’t look like a series of mere passageways either. There’s clear signs of human habitation. If you listen closely, you can hear noises in the distance. Like… a crowd of people. The faint smell of cooked food, even.”

Hilda tilts her head, pausing to listen. “Hmm, I think I hear a little something, but people living _under_ Garreg Mach? That sounds too—oh, wait! My brother used to tell me stories about something like this during his academy days!”

“Holst used to be a student here?” asks Claude.

“Yup! And back then there were tons of rumors about what goes on below Garreg Mach. That lots of super-shady people lived down there!” she says with a frown. “And if we just found it… if this is truly that place… oh, it had an intimidating name too. Something like… Abyss, I think.”

Ah, so Claude’s hunch _was_ right. Abyss wasn’t just a codename for a hideout, but a whole civilization underneath the monastery. The night is finally starting to turn around in his favor. Oh how many questions he has now. How did it get here? How far did it reach? Exactly how unscrupulous were the residents?

“That’s two points for the little lady with the pink pigtails!”

Byleth immediately stands in front of them, sword drawn at the strange voice. Coming toward them is a very tall man, big and burly, who’d give both Raphael and Dedue a run for their money. In fact, Claude suspects he might be even bigger than them. Dark eyes and black hair, slicked back with sideburns hugging his face, one stubborn wavy lock sticking out in front of his forehead. For some reason he’s got his sculpted torso out on display with his open blazer—yeah, Raphael would probably love to have a go at this guy. Although he looks a little older than all of them. Why does he have a chain around his chest?

Dimitri immediately takes up a defensive stance with his weapon. “Identify yourself! Wait, hold on… That uniform….”

The man laughs, throwing his head back. Hands on his hips, he says, “Yeah, the boss was right; not a single one of you is a knight. And most of ya are pretty tiny to boot!” To him, maybe. Dimitri and Linhardt aren’t exactly short, and Claude isn’t a pipsqueak himself either. Though, admittedly, only Ashe is shorter than him out of all the men currently present.

“Welcome, curious students of the Officers Academy! What brings such fine, upstanding surface dwellers to our_ most_ humble abode?”

If he really is anything like Raphael, he’ll be looking for a good tussle. And Claude really doesn’t want to engage in combat this early—late, in the day.

Standing next to Byleth, he tries to diffuse the situation with, “We’re tracking someone who was creeping around the monastery. Gotta make sure they weren’t loitering around up there with malicious intentions. That’s all.”

Edelgard puts an arm in front of him, shaking her head. Then she looks back to the stranger. “Our business doesn’t concern you. Do you intend to let us pass, or not?”

A bubbly laugh startles them. One that reminds him of both Lorenz and Ferdinand. Pompous, is how it should be described. But, a lot more girly too. And sure enough, a girl does appear right beside this unidentified man.

Blonde hair, slightly wavy, cut in a bob. Two locks are tightly curled, one hanging on either side of her face. Purple headband. The underside of her hair is lavender, somehow. And her uniform, while a dress and in a different style, matches the same scheme as this guy’s, even down to the black chain, although a lot more dainty. Is that a fashion statement around here?

“Such indulgence cannot be permitted!” she starts. “Your words may fool the fool, but I, however, shall not be so easily deceived. For you are in the presence of Constance von Nuvelle, and I shall divine your true intentions!”

Yeah, she’s just girl Lorenz and Ferdinand, _for sure_.

Fantastic. Because the monastery needed three of them, obviously.

“Is that right?” Claude asks with a smirk. “Then what do the celestial stars of the sky tell you, Constance von Nuvelle?”

“Uh… y… you are here by order of the church, of course! A church that cruelly plans to eliminate the inhabitants of Abyss!”

Byleth still keeps her sword at the ready, but she doesn’t have that fierce protective look on her face anymore. “You think we’re here to harm you? That the church does?”

Edelgard mumbles something to herself about ‘Nuvelle’, but before any one of them can get more straight answers, the burly stranger slams his fist into the palm of his other hand. “I don’t care what the reason is for this brawl. A fight’s on the menu, and I’m definitely ready to feast! Let’s stop yappin’ and start slappin’!”

Oh, Raphael would absolutely _love_ this dude.

Dimitri falters in his defensive stance. Leaning toward Byleth, he says, “Though there are only two of them, they don’t look at all rattled by our appearance. That might mean they’re confident in their ability to defeat us. Professor, I don’t think it’s a wise endeavor to engage in combat with them.”

“I agree,” Claude says. The burly guy looks like he’ll just barrel through all of them, even with Dimitri’s insane strength on their side. “Time to make another strategic retreat, then?”

He gets a smile out of the prince. “Your last one did work out well for us, after all.”

“That’s one of the nicest things I’ve heard all day,” he replies, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving a friendly squeeze. “Thanks for that.”

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

“Oh, turning back already?” comes a third, unidentified voice. Like a shadow, another man slips out from behind the bigger one. Much smaller, and lithe. Skin on the more pale side. Lavender eyes and hair, locks that almost reach his shoulders. An impish grin on his pink painted lips. The uniform he wears looks a lot like a house leader’s, except in a purple and ashen black color scheme with accents of white. “But you’ll make me so sad!” he mocks in a pouty tone. “Now why would you wanna do that?”

He grins wide, and drops the playful lilt. “Everyone here is starved for amusement. They’ve been waiting for a good fight. And honestly, so have I. Besides, we can’t just let whoever wander down into our home. Isn’t that right, Hapi?”

A second girl walks up to the trio of strangers, looking the least enthused to be here. Brown skin tone, much like Claude’s own. Maybe slightly darker. Red hair and eyes, full lips. He hopes she never meets Sylvain. Or Lorenz. Her uniform, like the previous three, matches with the color scheme, but with a cropped purple shirt underneath her white blazer, and a standard skirt.

Hapi, as she’s apparently called, eyes their group with disinterest as she crosses her arms. “Seven of ‘em. Basic weapons. Don’t think they’ll put up much of a fight, except maybe the one with the belly window,” says the girl who also has a belly window. “Do we really gotta bother, Yuri-bird?”

Claude shakes his head. “Wow, would you look at that. A flawless example of a surprise attack. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill thugs, obviously, since you four look more like students. The uniform colors aren’t right, but the designs are very close. Did you make those yourselves?”

Dimitri sighs, sounding exasperated. “Claude, this isn’t the time to be impressed by our enemy. We must find a way through—or out of—this situation at once. With four of them, and us having no idea what kind of training they’ve had, this could take a bad turn.”

The burly man looks at him, surprised, momentarily stalling the ass-whopping he most likely still wants to inflict on them. “Wait a min—_Claude_? As in the brand-new heir of House Riegan? _That_ Claude?”

Well fuck him three ways to next Thursday. If someone knows his name down here in whatever the hell this place is, apparently full of ruffians and the scourge of the surface, then that’s as good of a cue as any to get them all out of this sticky situation that Claude, unfortunately, got them all into.

“Who, me?” he asks, pointing to himself. “Nah,” he shakes his head, “wrong guy. Claude’s a common name in Fódlan. It’s just too dashing for new moms to pass up. It’s even a popular choice for fake names. Just a good, solid, all-purpose moniker, y’know? Though I wish you luck with finding this ‘Claude’ you apparently remember.”

“Right, that may be true,” the burly man says, focus razor sharp on him, “in the general sense, but there’s only _one_ Claude enrolled at the Officer’s Academy this year. And, if I really did hear right, that guy,” he slowly points at him with a black gloved hand, grin growing, “is you.”

Okay, now he’s allowed to panic. Just a little bit. The slightest smidge. Because he’s just been given enough proof that whoever is down here in Abyss, knows how to get pertinent information like that. And if they could figure all that out just by a first meeting, he doesn’t want to spend any more time in this place. Not until he’s got a different plan.

“_How_ do you even know that?”

The man laughs. “I don’t! _You _just told me, pal! Looks like my luck’s finally taking a turn for the better!”

_Hmm. Yeah. Looks stupid, but actually isn’t. Well, that’s not good. Should’ve taken that strategic retreat the moment Dimitri said it._

“So, I’ll give you folks some options,” Bigger Raphael continues. He holds up his pointer finger. “Option one: line up for a beating of a lifetime.” Then he holds up the next phalange. “Option two: let us lock you up for trespassing like the good boys and girls that you are.”

“Is… um…,” Ashe starts from his place hidden behind Dimitri, “there a third and fourth option? Those two seem very… limited.”

“Nope! I’ll give you a minute to discuss it with your squad. I’m starting the countdown… now!”

Byleth takes a step forward, carefully, sword firm in her grip. Claude sighs, running a hand through his hair. No matter what they say, they’re not going to leave here peacefully. “I have no clue what the hell this guy’s going on about, but it looks like we’re not gonna make it through here without a fight. And it’s pretty much all my fault. Sorry, Teach….”

“It’s not your fault, Claude,” she assures. “We knew there was a potential for danger, and yet all of us entered the tunnel anyway. Besides, we need to find that suspicious man from earlier, and…,” she gives him a glance, “we still have an adventure to continue, don’t we? I would hate for it to end here.”

He only realizes he’s smiling too much when his cheeks start to hurt a little. Her words are small comfort, but a welcome one nonetheless. “Right. We can’t let that stand. I promised you an adventure, and an adventure we shall have.”

Reaching back for his bow and an arrow, Claude says to the four strangers, “Alright, if you’re not gonna just let us go quietly, then we’ll have to make you regret ever trying to stop us in the first place.”

Edelgard dumps Linhardt on the ground, who apparently was asleep this whole time. _That guy really can just log several hours of snoozing whenever and wherever, huh?_

“_Finally_!” the burly man shouts, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s do this thing already! Prepare to face the Almighty King of Grappling!” He reaches for his sides, only to not grab at whatever he intended on snatching. “Whoops. Forgot the gauntlets in my room.”

Hilda has been surprisingly quiet this whole time. She stares at the stranger, tilting her head. One elbow is cradled by her palm of the opposite arm, her other hand tapping at her cheek with her index finger. She furrows her brow as she thinks, lips puckered in thought. “Why do I get the feeling I know that wild man?”

“Well, remember soon,” Claude tells her, “because I’m sure it’ll really help us out right now.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the lavender stranger, Yuri-bird, or… Yuri, maybe, gives a heavy sigh. “Balthus, you got so caught up in your excitement that you just shot out from the room lacking anything to defend yourself with. Again.”

Hilda gasps, loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “_Balthus_?” She squeezes herself through to the front, taking steps closer to this man who is apparently named Balthus. “As in, Balthazar von Albrecht? Oh my gosh, it’s been so long!”

He goes rigid where he stands, staring down at her. She is offensively small next to him. “Uh… how’d you know—you ain’t a bounty hunter, are ya?”

“_No_!” Hilda stomps her foot, and adds a pout for good measure. “It’s _me_, Hilda! Holst’s—as in Holst Goneril’s—baby sister? Baltie, how can you not remember me?” ‘_Baltie_’? That sounds like a name of a sea salt cookie. “I’m hurt! You’d think my pink hair would’ve given it away! I never stopped liking pigtails, you know!”

Eyes hilariously wide, he looks like he just got slapped in the face with a frozen trout.

“Oh shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeessss here we go!! Cindered Shadows side-story START!!! 🐺
> 
> Forgot if I said this before, but, I've been able to piece together that this arc takes place soon after the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth, based on a few lines of dialogue within the DLC. But monsters are also included as enemies on I think two of the maps, so I wanted Byleth & co. to first see a monster via Miklan so they're better prepared to handle them in this arc. It's also why I moved up the Chapter 5 mission to the beginning of the Verdant Rain Moon instead of later, because the end of it is where I wanted to include this side-story. Which then turned into the beginning of the Horsebow Moon since I forgot to take into account a semi-realistic time needed for travel between Garreg Mach and Conand Tower, plus the return trip. Then Ashe & Catherine's paralogue got added after so, yeah. 😅
> 
> When I first did this DLC, the beginning of Claude's dialogue in the first chapter made me suspicious. What I wrote is almost word for word what he said, so I too improvised to make it fit Claudeleth. Like, "huh, Claude sure sounds like he wants time alone with Byleth and her only." It was _very_ interesting.... 👀
> 
> Hope you're all excited for this little arc. I just finished the Chapter 40 draft today, and all I'll say is that it's still dealing with this plot. I've been doing my best to add in the side-story as seamlessly as possible into the main canon.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	36. XXXVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Claude tells Byleth of a rumored place within Garreg Mach known as Abyss, and that he'd like to explore it with her. They search for clues on its location in the library, but end up talking about Miklan and the Relic. Tomas overhears them, and shares that it's a secret history of the Heroes' Relics that very few know about, before he leaves. When Byleth asks Claude why he spends so much time in the library, he tells her he won't share his secrets unless she does. Edelgard happens to overhear them this time, and then begins to grill Claude about his sudden appearance as a legitimate heir to House Riegan. Byleth defends him, saying he doesn't need to answer, which unknowingly makes her more endearing to him. As the three leave the library, they spot a shadowy figure lurking nearby and give chase. They run into Dimitri along the way, find a secret tunnel, and convince a passing Hilda, Linhardt, and Ashe to join them in the venture. Once inside, they meet four strangers with school uniforms similar to their own. Just as things start to look dicey, Hilda recognizes the one named Balthus.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXVI ⧽  
  
Enter the Ashen Wolves

Byleth is relieved that Hilda’s familiarity with the man named Balthus spares all of them unnecessary violence. She really didn’t want to fight, especially other people who look a lot like students themselves. Their uniforms all vary in style, but are brought together by the purple, white, and ashen black color schemes with chain-like accessories completing their outfits.

“Hilda! It’s been too long!” Balthus says with a grin and a laugh. “Didn’t recognize you there for a sec.”

“It seemed like more than a second!” she retorts. “Baltie, what would Holst think?! His best friend all eager to bash in his beloved little sister’s head? That’s so mean!”

“Yeah, but it’s been ages since I last visited you guys!”

That earns him a hard stare. Balthus sighs. “Look—Look okay, I’m real sorry. Just don’t tell your bro.” He clasps his hands together in a pleading gesture. The massive size difference between him and Hilda as he hunches over in apology would be funny if not for her glare. “_Please_ Hilda, don’t tell Holst. If he knew I threatened to raise a hand against you, he’d _actually_ kill me, our friendship be damned. And he’d find me in a heartbeat too! I’m begging ya!”

She crosses her arms, pouting, as she cocks her hip to the side. Pursing her lips, she says, “Fine. Just this once, and _just_ for you, I’ll keep quiet. But you don’t get any more freebies after this, Baltie.”

“Oh goddess, thanks a million, Hilda!”

Claude clears his throat. “Well now that we’ve all avoided making each other a bloody stain on the ground, what did you mean that you were lucky you found me? Balthus, is it?”

“Ah, that.” He huffs, smoothing his hair back. “See, I owe a lotta gold to a lotta people. Count Gloucester is one of ‘em. But he said he’d forgive my debt if I could dig up dirt on one Claude von Riegan. And since I now know you actually are him, I figured this was my shot to get one load off my shoulders.”

Why would Count Gloucester want information on Claude? Does he have other people on the prowl for that kind of thing? Byleth doesn’t want to think that Lorenz’s father is so displeased with Claude that he might hire someone to ‘take care of him’. Claude hasn’t done anything wrong.

But if it did come down to that, she would protect him. Fight tooth and nail to keep him safe.

“Sooo, it was purely selfish,” Claude replies with a frown. “Gotcha. But then, let’s say you did get dirt on me. Would fighting me—fighting us afterward still really be necessary?”

“Of course! Best way to acquaint yourself with someone is to get in a tussle with ‘em.” Balthus grins wide, tapping his forehead with a finger. “That’s common sense right there.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Byleth finally says.

Laughing, he replies, “You looked ready to go yourself!”

“I have to be prepared for anything. These are my students, and it’s my job to protect them. Especially in a place we aren’t familiar with, and with only seven of us.”

“Huh?” He glances between her and the others. “You mean tell me you’re their… professor? But you look right about their age.”

“I am.”

“…The hell?”

Hapi, as Byleth thinks she’s called, pats Yuri’s arm with the back of her hand. “Yuri-bird, that’s her. The one folks have been gossiping about. Byleth Eisner.”

“Just how much information,” Edelgard starts, narrowing her eyes, “do people down in Abyss know about us ‘surface dwellers’? We have hardly heard of you, but you seem to have eyes and ears in more places than just underground.”

“Surface dwellers don’t care to know about us,” Hapi replies. “But we gotta protect ourselves down here however we can. With fighting, or information. Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

“Wh—How did—”

“Ah!” Constance sucks in a breath. “You are—yes, yes of course! With the way you carry yourself, I should have known! The princess of the Adrestian Empire!”

Hapi gives a glance to Dimitri. “Looking at you, and considering the fancy way you talk, I’m guessing you must be Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Got the blue color scheme of Faerghus and everything.”

“Y-Yes that is… correct,” he replies with a bow. “I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hapi, but I have a feeling you and your friends don’t quite trust us yet. Not that I can blame you. We honestly were just curious where this tunnel led to, on top of us wanting to make sure that suspicious man wasn’t up to something nefarious. That is the only reason we armed ourselves; as a precaution.”

Balthus looks on in awe, glancing back and forth between the three heirs. “Well I’ll be. The three lordlings of Fódlan wandered down into Abyss. Should’ve made the connection sooner. They’ve got uniforms like yours, Boss.”

Yuri walks up to them, expression neutral. He makes eye-contact with Byleth, holding her stare. She doesn’t blink. He’s sizing her up, and the intense way he stares at her very much feels like she’s caught in the line of a wolf’s sights. Predator prowling ever closer to its prey. Though his face is fair, and neatly beautified with painted lips and eyeshadow, she has a feeling one too many have met an unfortunate fate by taking him at face-value.

“Well then,” he finally says, “Byleth Eisner. Apologies for threatening your class. I’ve heard only good things about you, so, I’ll call a truce. Best to get you folks out of here and back to the surface.”

“Hold, Yuri!” Constance says, her arm out with her hand in a halting pose. “They are now aware of the existence of Abyss and where to access an entrance. We cannot just let them leave without recompense!”

“And what would you have them do, exactly?”

“If they are truly students of the Officers Academy, then we can request their assistance with our current… predicament. Unofficially, of course, for obvious reasons.”

“Dunno if we can trust them,” Hapi says, looking unsure. “They already know more than enough about Abyss as it is. Might have the knights sniffing down here with the three heirs not checking in before bedtime. That’s the last thing we need. Give them an excuse to storm the place.”

“It’s already past curfew,” Yuri corrects. “And even if the knights do come looking, we’ll just hand ‘em over. No harm, no foul. But, I’m still pretty reluctant to get you all involved in this. It’s our problem, not yours. With that being said, you’re not gonna get more info out of me or my friends here unless you agree, even partially.”

“I don’t know what I’d be helping you with,” replies Byleth. “And I’d rather not get my students into danger, either.”

“You that bad of a professor that they need you to babysit?”

“Hey,” Claude starts, putting a hand on Byleth’s shoulder, “Teach here is one hell of an instructor. She doesn’t need to hold our hands, but we didn’t get as far as we got by working solo either. There’s strength in numbers.”

“I agree, which is why we’re considering your help. Think of it like this: you don’t know us, and we don’t know you. We’ll all be taking a gamble.”

“You know the layout of Abyss,” Byleth points out. “The kind of people that reside here. When curfew is for the monastery. I’m sure you have other general information like that too. We don’t know anything, except the things you tell us. Things that, for all we know, could be lies.”

Yuri grins. “I didn’t say we’d be at risk equally. But I appreciate your sharp mind. Why don’t you talk it over with your class? I’ll give you a few minutes.”

Byleth really doesn’t want to, but, something in her gut tells her she’ll be back down here eventually if she walks away right now. Well, she doubts her class will get sent on another mission this month anyway. And… she does want to have that adventure with Claude. She also doesn’t know if Edelgard or Dimitri will venture back down here on their own. If Linhardt was awake right now, she’s sure he definitely would.

“Alright,” she agrees. “I’ll talk it over with them. Excuse us.”

Once they’re all in a circle, she says, “If anything, I’ll assist them by myself.”

“No can do, Teach,” Claude interjects. “This place has got lots of secrets just waiting to be uncovered. And with someone as savvy as Yuri is, better to have him as an ally than a foe, wouldn’t you say? Although…,” he glances down at Linhardt who is still fast asleep on the floor, “we might need to make a trip back to the dorms to drop him off.”

Edelgard huffs, staring down at the snoozing mage. “For goodness sake, wake up already,” she says, pinching his cheek. Linhardt startles, swatting her away.

“Are we there yet?” he asks with a yawn. “Oh,” he looks between the spaces of their group huddle to Yuri and the others, “now who are they? People living down here? How curious.”

“Curious enough to explore?” asks Claude. “This place is called Abyss, and there’s a whole city thriving with people and _secrets_,” he teases. “We were just discussing if we should help them with a—”

Immediately, Linhardt shoots up from the ground. “My vote is yes.”

With that affirmative, and Claude’s own abundant curiosity being another obvious agreement, Byleth asks the others, “Does anyone else want to help?”

“I already said I would,” Ashe replies. “Plus we still need to find that suspicious man who was lurking above.”

“And I’d agree, although…,” Dimitri sighs, “tomorrow is Monday; we cannot miss class either.”

“Perhaps we can arrange something with Yuri,” Edelgard suggests. “I doubt they want other people to know about this place, so we will have to be discreet. Maybe assist them after the academic day is over.”

“Professor,” Hilda starts, batting her eyelashes, “does that mean we won’t have homework for the week? Because, well obviously you won’t have time to grade them, right?”

“I already have to adjust my lessons anyway,” she tells her, “because of our last mission. And Seteth gave you all homework when I explicitly stated in my instructions to not do. But does that mean you want to help, Hilda?”

“Weeell, I haven’t seen Baltie for a long time,” she twirls a lock of hair around her finger, “and now that that blockhead knows it’s me, I’d like to catch up. Besides, this place might have some interesting shops to get materials for my accessories.”

“Alright, then we’ll help them. But stay on your toes, everyone. Just because we know their names, doesn’t mean we know who they are entirely.”

With that being said, Byleth and her students return to Yuri, and agree to help. She properly introduces everyone (surprised to find that Ashe and Yuri vaguely recall the other), and explains the issue of her still needing to teach classes during the day. That the only way any of them can help, is after the academic day.

“Sounds reasonable,” he replies. “Let’s talk about the details of our arrangement somewhere more comfortable. Out here in the murky tunnels isn’t exactly ideal for such a thing.”

Yuri, Balthus, Constance, and Hapi lead them down one particular tunnel with more lit torches. The further along they go, the noisier it gets with chatter, and the stronger it smells of food. Windows with metal bars start to appear along the walls as they come closer to the bustle, and Byleth can definitely see people now out and about.

They reach a staircase that’s guarded by one man. “Oh, Yuri!” he greets. “Who’re these guys?”

“Visitors from the surface.”

“The surface?! How’d they get down here?!”

“Don’t be alarmed. Remember their faces, will you? They’ll be coming down here a lot over the next handful of days.” Turning to them with a smile, he says, “This is our very own Abysskeeper, Zeke. Heard you have your own gatekeeper up on the surface. Anthony, right?”

“I’m better than that guy,” Zeke debates. “Sharper eyes. Cleaner ears. And I won’t forget your faces either, so no funny business.” The large axe strapped to his back probably isn’t there for show. Although his armor is less protective than Anthony’s, looking more like standard garb a ruffian would wear. Plain leather armor with furs and a few metal pieces for extra guard.

“Every day, after class,” Yuri says as he leads them down the stairway into what Byleth assumes is the central marketplace, “you’ll check in with Zeke. There are other entryways into Abyss, but just come through the one from today. You remember the route through the tunnels on how to get here?”

“Right, right, left, right, straight, left, straight, right, straight,” Linhardt says in quick succession. “Yes, I’ll remember.”

“You were paying attention.” A grin curls on Yuri’s lips. “Very good.”

The marketplace is alive with chatter, music, and the smell of food. Different stalls sell fruits and vegetables Byleth has never even seen. Others sell pelts and bones from animals not native to Fódlan. Plants and flowers that aren’t part of the greenhouse’s inventory. Spices and herbs that make her mouth water as she reads the signs passing by. Books with titles too saucy or un-educational for the monastery’s library are also out on display. Colorful fabrics and dyes are in the stall right next to it, and the list goes on and on.

Stacked on top of each other, the buildings around the marketplace consist of other shops or residencies. And despite the darkness of the underground, she can see a plethora of glittering lights in the distance for who knows how far. Lots of homes for the people of Abyss, she guesses.

_To think there was something like this beneath Garreg Mach! Incredible!_

_Yeah. Kinda want to explore after Yuri tells us the details._

_Oh you absolutely must! This is a trove of useful discoveries, no doubt. Although I would still proceed with caution. We do not know who inhabits this place, but from looks alone, they are always ready to enter into danger. Far too many here have daggers on their belts, or other weapons. But there is even a grander number of residents who seem defenseless too._

Yuri says hello to a lot of the people around, as do Balthus, Constance, and Hapi. But they give Byleth and the others sharp or wary looks. Understandable.

They go down a second set of stairs to another series of tunnels. But unlike the ones they passed through initially, these are much smaller and actually have a visible ceiling. Water puddles around them in certain corners, and there’s a small stream underneath a stone pathway they cross. Rooms line the walls as they pass by. More people around Yuri’s age are lounging about, also dressed in a similar uniform. They glance at Byleth and her students, almost with disdain. Others just look curious.

They turn about two corners and come to a large makeshift classroom, just slightly bigger than the one she’s used to teaching in. A banner hangs in the background. It’s in faded shades of purple with a wolf in profile over some circular symbol. Like smoke.

Books and other things are carelessly stacked around, many of them out of their shelves. Extra tables and chairs are discarded the furthest from where they stand, cluttering up the bigger half of the room. Crates and barrels also make up the haphazard decoration of the place. There’s a desk and a chalkboard at the center of the entire space, facing the area of benched tables that does happen to be organized for lessons.

“Well, what do you think?” Yuri stands in front of the aisle, his arms outstretched. “Welcome to the Ashen Wolves, the unofficial secret fourth house of Garreg Mach Monastery.”

“Fourth house? Is that why there are students around here?” asks Ashe. “This is amazing….”

“Glad you think so. Now, let’s take a seat. Class is long over for the day, so we won’t be bothering anyone.”

Yuri gestures to an empty table. He, Balthus, Constance, and Hapi sit on one side. Byleth sits on the other, with Claude plopping himself to her right and Dimitri to her left—almost immediately, earning him a sharp look from Edelgard. _Are they fighting over sitting next to me again?_

Ashe takes a place beside Dimitri, Hilda next to Claude, and Linhardt gets the last seat after Edelgard sits herself at the edge, closest to the aisle.

“So,” Yuri folds his hands on the table surface, leaning over a bit, “as you saw just now, there’s a whole bunch of people living in Abyss. I know some of them looked intimidating, but most folks here can’t defend themselves.”

Constance nods. “This place is home to those that the light shuns. It is the secret shadow of Garreg Mach, if you will.”

Balthus crosses his arms, and frowns. “Believe it or not, lotsa folks here wanna avoid conflict. The elderly, the infirm, orphans, lost souls, people from outside of Fódlan, merchants who were chewed up and spit out by the nobility… the works.”

“As you’ve probably guessed,” Hapi starts, “the church knows of this place. Feel like they need it for Garreg Mach to survive. So, they quietly tolerate us. A stain on their otherwise pristine cloth.”

Sighing, Yuri says, “And, because of that, we can’t exactly ask the church for help. Not like we really want to, in the first place. Every once in a while, a few knights will come down here to make sure we’re not up to no good. Otherwise, they leave us alone. It’s a relationship of mutual dislike.”

“What do you need help with?” asks Byleth.

His lips pull into a frown as he stares at the table surface. “Creeps have been lurking around as of late, and not our creeps of Abyss. This community is tightly knit that everyone knows almost everybody. So, when folks noticed a strange influx of people with weapons just a bit too shiny, they started getting worried.”

Yuri goes on to explain that he suspects someone is intentionally sending hired help to cause trouble for Abyssians. Mercenaries have recently been starting fights or causing other kinds of chaos. While he and the other Ashen Wolves have been able to fend them off, along with help from a few others living here, the intruders keep coming back.

“We would continue our investigation beyond Abyss,” Constance adds, “but then we will risk leaving everyone defenseless. And all four of us, myself… included… cannot venture into the light either. This sanctuary was only made possible by the grace of our esteemed patron, and risking that security would not be wise.”

“Even you have a reason for being down here, Baltie?” Hilda asks, looking surprised.

He groans, scratching the back of his head. “Afraid so, Hilda. Remember how I said earlier that I owe gold to a lotta people? Yeah… that means I’ve got more bounties on my head than I have strands of hair. So for the past several years, I had to lay low. Real low…. That’s why I kinda just disappeared on you and Holst.”

“What?! Baltie, that’s awful!” she scolds lightly. “How did you even accumulate so much debt?!”

Giving an embarrassed laugh, he says, “Kinda fell into lady luck’s snare, and I can’t seem to get out. Every time there’s some sorta gamble, I tell myself I won’t take the bait, and I get hooked anyway. Before I know it, my pockets are gutted and I’m just tossed back out. But I also like having a good time with the drink and with the ladies, who also like drinks. And a pretty meal. Maybe a piece of jewelry or two. You can’t woo a lady with no money, sooo…”

Hilda plants her face in her hands, shaking her head. “Oh Baltie….”

“Yes, well,” Constance continues, “you see our predicament, do you not? We must stay here to safeguard Abyss, on top of the surface being a little too tumultuous for us to venture into as things currently are. That is why we are asking for your aid. To help protect the place we call home!”

“Having heard all of that,” Yuri meets Byleth’s eyes again, “what do you think? Will you help us?”

“While I’m sympathetic,” Claude speaks first, for once not smiling, “it sounds like we’ll be risking our necks more than we thought. If it’s true that someone’s hiring mercenaries to attack this place, that means they’ve got money, and lots of it. And ways to make me, Dimitri, and Edelgard pay if we get tangled in their web. Not to mention Ashe, Linhardt, and Hilda. They’re also from noble families. Teach, however, isn’t.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Edelgard starts, giving a silent sigh, “but I agree with Claude. While the six of us have financial resources to get out of a bind—should this unknown individual recognize us, the professor does not have an easy way out. She is the only commoner among our group, and might suffer the greatest consequences.”

“Should that happen,” Dimitri says, “we will do our best, of course, to help her. And we also do want to help you four as well. These innocent people cast away from the greater expanse of Fódlan deserve to have a place where they can feel safe. We are just…”

“Protective of Teach,” Claude finishes, “just as much as she’s protective of us.”

_How sweet. You have earned their adoration to this degree, including the two crown heirs who are not even in your class._

_I don’t know what I did to earn that, but I also don’t want them unnecessarily getting into danger for my sake either._

Sothis grunts, but doesn’t say anything more.

“You look out for each other’s best interests,” Yuri says with a nod. “I get it. Can’t say I’m much different. Which is why I’ll be upfront with this: if you do anything to harm the residents of Abyss,” he leans further forward, keeping his eyes trained on Byleth, “you _will_ be at the top of my hit list. Don’t care about your status as royalty or nobles, honestly. I’ve survived this long dodging folks like you, and I’ll keep at it if I have to.”

He smirks, resting a cheek on his fist. “It’d be a real damn shame if any of you got caught up in certain ‘unfortunate’ accidents. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just do it the old fashioned way and slit your throats,” he ends darkly.

Byleth’s companions visibly stiffen around her. Her hand itches to grab the dagger at her hip. “There’s no need for threats, Yuri. We won’t harm the people living here. I don’t know why the church doesn’t want to take care of them. I would think such an establishment would want to help the less fortunate.”

“Yeah, you’d think that, right? But that’s not the case. Even if the church lets us roam here, Abyss was already in place before the monastery’s completion, believe it or not.”

“Intriguing,” Linhardt says, rubbing at his chin. “Perhaps created by an earlier civilization?”

“Could be. There’s a decrepit idol statue down here. We don’t know who it is, but it’s there.”

“None who remember such a time are alive today,” Constance says. “We can only guess how Abyss came to be, but we might never find out its true origins. That information has most likely been lost to time.”

“If you’re still not convinced of our plight,” Yuri regards all of them, one by one, “why don’t you take a look around the place? We could give you a proper tour. Familiarize yourself with our modest home.”

“Yeah,” agrees Balthus with a smile. “Walk around a bit. Think some thoughts. I know Boss kinda gave you all a little scare a few chats ago—”

“I’m just protective, is all,” he defends in a coy tone.

“—but consider yourselves our esteemed guests. We can take you wherever you wanna go. Maybe grab a bite to eat. Been a while since you’ve had dinner, I’m guessing.”

“Yes! A splendid idea!” Constance cheers. “We shall be your guides into Abyss, and then you will see for yourselves just how precious of a place it truly is.”

“So, Chatterbox, you gonna help us or what?” Hapi asks bluntly.

_Chatterbox? Is she talking to me?_ “Yes,” Byleth replies anyway. “A tour would be nice, but we already decided to help you. We’ll get to the bottom of what’s going on so Abyssians can find solace in a haven to live out their days. But the closer we get to the source of the chaos, I might need to involve my other students. You can trust them, both in combat skill and in character. We’ve been through a lot since the start of the new school year.”

“I’ll decide that once I meet ‘em,” Yuri states. “Trust is a choice, and we’re choosing to trust your current group of seven. For now. So, with all the nitty gritty details out of the way, let’s shake on it. Properly.” He stands up, and motions for her to rise as well. She walks over to the aisle.

Reaching out his hand, he says, “From this point forward, we’ll work together to snuff out the creeps who are preying on Abyssians. And, you might get something nice for your troubles at the end of this, too.”

“I’m not asking for a reward. Just your trust.”

“And you’ll have it. Eventually. So long as we’re all honest with each other—like I was a few minutes earlier, we won’t have any problems. Do we have a deal?”

She stares at his hand for a second before she shakes it firmly, and he reciprocates. “Deal.”

Yuri gives her a friendlier smile now. “Great. So, should I call you Byleth, or Professor?”

“Byleth is fine.”

“Alright. Just out of curiosity, how old are you? Since you are _the_ Byleth Eisner, that makes your father Jeralt, the Blade Breaker. And you, the Ashen Demon. A little young to have already gained such a reputation, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be 21 on the 20th of this moon.”

“Huh. You’re just a year older than me.” Yuri rubs at his chin, giving her a once-over. “Now why would Archbishop Rhea allow such a thing, with no experience as an instructor? You’d certainly turn heads with the students. Could cause some friction, in more ways than one,” he says, a sly grin on his face. “I mean look at you. You’re adorable.”

Balthus gives a single, hearty laugh. “Adorable? More like a knockout. And I would be glad to give her a tour of Abyss all on my own,” he says, beginning to stand up. “You got a fella in your life, Byleth?”

“No.”

“Fantastic! So how about you and I—”

Claude immediately slips out from his seat and walks over to Byleth. Hilda is smiling a little too wide as she watches him. “Yeah Teach isn’t looking for a boyfriend, sorry to burst your bubble. She’s way too busy right now with her scholarly duties.”

“What are you even talking about? Teachers have personal lives too, and lots of ‘em have partners.”

“That’s true,” Byleth agrees. “Claude is my partner.”

Balthus’ eyes go wide, as do Dimitri’s and Edelgard’s. Actually, everyone’s. Except for Hilda who now looks like she stumbled upon the prettiest necklace in the store. And Linhardt, who looks as bored as usual.

“Seriously?! You’re with a student—your own even?! Holy shit.”

“How scandalous!” cries Constance. “Does Lady Rhea know of this?! Even if you happen to be of similar age, surely this still violates proper conduct!”

“Like I told the professor before: they’re the dominant wolves leading our class,” Linhardt remarks.

“Enough with the wolf analogy, Linhardt,” Byleth tells him, not wanting to have this conversation for a third time. “It’s inaccurate.”

“What wolf analogy?” Dimitri and Edelgard ask at the same time.

Claude waves his hands around. “_No_, no no—wolves—_what_ are you even—?!” He looks a little distressed, and Byleth sort of hates that she finds it cute. Again. “Okay wow, let us _back up_ a few steps. Teach didn’t mean it like that. _Definitely_ not like that. She meant partner-_ship_,” he emphasizes with his hands, as if he’s moving an invisible object from one side to the next, “as in, because I’m the Golden Deer House’s leader, and she’s the professor of my class specifically, we need to work together to get everyone through the year successfully. Academically, and out on assignments. That’s it,” he ends, waving his arms once in a ceasing gesture.

“So why are you blushing?” asks Hapi, pointing to him lazily.

“I’m not.”

He is, actually. Cheeks are pink again, and his ears are threatening to turn red. But he looks just as calm as he normally does. It’s a little endearing.

“Yeah you are, Claudester.”

“‘_Claudester_?’”

Hilda looks about ready to burst, with how wide she’s smiling and how tightly she has her arms pressed to her chest, hands clasped together. What is she doing?

_This is extremely amusing. So far I am enjoying these Ashen Wolves. I am glad you decided to help them. If permittable, you should add these four colorful characters to your class._

_I hardly know them. Balthus looks too old to be a student, on top of that. He’s as old as Holst. And why are you amused?_

_Oh, you will see in due time, I’m sure._

Hapi rolls her eyes. “I don’t care, honestly, if you two have a thing. I’m actually a little surprised about something else. People down here have gossiped about you, Chatterbox. Said the new professor is extremely beautiful. Like, goddess-level pretty. But now that I’ve met you in person,” she shrugs a single shoulder, “I can see that was just an exaggeration.”

“_Excuse _me?” Hilda finally shoots up from her spot at the table, walking over to Hapi. She pinches her fingers together on each hand as she says, “Just because you’re Baltie’s friend, doesn’t mean I’m going to let certain things slide. The professor is drop-dead gorgeous. I mean, are you even _looking_, Hapi?”

“I am; nothing special.” She furrows her brow in confusion. “Not saying she’s ugly. But she’s not anything to gawk over either, appearance-wise anyway.”

Hilda clicks her tongue, a hand on the hip that she juts out to the side. “_Hello_? Are you for real?” She goes over to Byleth, gesturing to her form as she gives a frustrated stare at the other girl. “Look at these legs! Her cute butt! These hips and these toned arms! Her whole _face_? Her abs? And her perfectly plump boobies?”

“Yeah, they’re hilariously big,” Hapi says with a-matter-of-fact shake of her head. “And? Tit size doesn’t mean anything worthwhile on anybody, at least to me.”

“Hilariously—?! Oh, my gosh.” She pouts, that frustrated cutesy look on her face when she’s forced to do work she’d rather hand over to someone else. “Professor,” she says turning to her, hands clamping down on her shoulders, “those gossips were right: you are extremely gorgeous. Just all around natural beauty. Women everywhere would kill to look like you. To have your _body_. Don’t listen to Hapi.”

This is starting to get out of control. Probably best to diffuse the situation. “Hilda, thank you for defending me, but I really don’t ca—”

“Claude! Back me up in supporting the professor!” She says, looking over to him. “Isn’t she absolutely sexy?”

He laughs, shaking his head immediately. “Oh no, I’m not answering that. Besides, don’t you think this is inappropriate chatter about our dear instructor?”

“I’m just asking for an honest opinion!”

“Then you’re gonna have to look somewhere else. I’ve been ganged up on enough in the last few minutes as it is. Not happening again. No matter what I say, my words are gonna be twisted out of context. Why don’t you ask ‘Baltie’?”

“Because I already_ know_ what he’s gonna say; his answer isn’t important.”

“Aww, c’mon Hilda!” whines the man. “Just ask me! I like talking about pretty ladies!”

“Much like someone we all know back on the surface….,” Ashe sighs, sounding exasperated.

“Ashe!” Hilda says with a smile, which has him jolt in his seat. “Don’t you think the professor is absolutely jaw-droppingly gorgeous?”

“She’s our teacher!” he defends, freckled cheeks rosy. “It doesn’t matter what I think!”

“But she needs our support right now!”

“You’re making her uncomfortable!”

Byleth puts a hand on Hilda’s arm. “It’s alright, Hilda. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but my appearance was never something I—”

“Oh, it’s okay,” she says softly, taking her head between gentle palms. “You don’t need to hide your hurt from me, Professor. Us girls gotta support each other. And that is exactly what I’m doing,” she assures, tapping her nose with her finger and smiling sweetly.

_A lot is going on right now. I should—_

_No, I want to see what they will say next._

_Sothis, this is going a little too far. While I don’t care one way or another, I don’t want any of them feeling uncomfortable because of—_

_Humor me, for once, Byleth! They are your age, anyway! Is this not what you youths chatter about? And Hapi is incorrect! Remember what I said some time ago? You are a sight, and do not let anyone else tell you otherwise._

_Not you too…._

“Please, Hilda,” Dimitri starts, looking at her with pleading eyes, “let us change the topic. I’m sure Hapi didn’t mean any offense, right?”

Hapi is smiling, watching all of them with mild glee. “No. But honestly, now I’m kinda curious about everyone’s opinions. So, what about you Didi? You think Byleth’s hot?”

Dimitri tenses, sitting impossibly straight. “W-Well, I mean, by certain stan—not that there is a universal—b-because everyone has—beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the saying goes and so I—not that I am trying to—I would _never_ be inappro—but of course that is t-to say—these aren’t necessarily_ my_ specific—”

And he goes on like that for another whole minute, not actually answering the question. Face starting off pink until it burns a tomato red from his ears to his neck. He’s talking to the table now.

Linhardt stares at him, blinking once. “You broke him, Hapi.”

“Whoops. Sorry, Didi.”

Hilda gives a frustrated sigh. “Boys are so—Linhardt, what do you think?”

“I think the professor is a human form existing in this current space, absolutely.”

“_Linhardt_.”

He shrugs. “Sure. Not trying to be inappropriate or anything,” he rests his chin on his fist, looking to Byleth, “but it’s widely accepted that you’re easy on the eyes. Very much so. Why do you think Seteth made you dress in an outfit that doesn’t show your midriff or has a window across your chest that would reveal your cleavage? Or an outfit that includes very short shorts?”

Byleth blinks. “Like… what I’m wearing now?”

“Exactly.”

“Linhardt,” Hilda starts again, shaking her head, “that’s a generalization. Not your personal opinion. Even a bookworm like you has to have one on her appearance, right?”

He draws out a deep sigh. “I don’t care—not even a little bit, Hilda. When I’m looking at the professor, it’s to pay attention to lecture, or study how she wields the Sword of the Creator. I’m not a certain redhead classmate who most likely enjoys getting lost in fantasies, ones where Professor Byleth is naked—again, I don’t mean to be inappropriate, Professor. Stuff like that are things I just don’t care about.”

“Wait,” Yuri starts, who before now had just been chuckling to himself next to Balthus, “yeah, that’s right. Heard the new instructor got a Relic from last month’s mausoleum fiasco; slipped my mind earlier. But I thought you were a commoner.”

“I have a Crest. I don’t know how, but I do.”

Constance gasps, smiling. She clasps her hands together. “Then it is most fortuitous that we were correct in asking for your help! I see you do not have it on your person as of this moment, but perhaps tomorrow, you can bring it with you!”

“Yeah, I agree. And enough mindless chatter; we’re overdue for that tour. Byleth is adorable, and that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Claude says plainly, low enough to be a mutter.

But apparently Yuri still catches it. “So then why don’t you throw out some of your own adjectives? I’m sure she’d be interested to hear what her ‘partner’ has to say.” He smirks at Claude, who only meets his look with narrowed eyes and that daily smile.

A part of Byleth actually does want to hear what he thinks, but another portion would rather just move on with the task at hand. Because she’s not sure what she’d do with that sort of information once she has it.

“Excuse me,” starts Edelgard. “You didn’t ask for my opinion, Hilda.”

Hilda arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Edelgard, with the world full of shallow people—shallow _men_, we have to support each other. There’s no ‘ugly’ girl out there. That’s why I didn’t ask you or Constance. Because I know you’ll say, ‘yes of course’, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well see, there you go! Thank you for supporting her.” Sighing, Hilda pouts. “Y’know what, at the end of the day, it only really matters what you think, Professor. And it’s what’s in your heart that’s important.” She takes her hands, and gives them a pat. “That conversation got away from me.”

“It’s alright, Hilda.” Had Byleth been a stricter professor, she might’ve given her detention. But beauty and all of that other stuff haven’t mattered in her life, and it’s going to continue that way. She and Hilda just place importance on different things, and that’s okay. As chaotic as it got, her heart was in the right place, at least. “But we really should get a tour of Abyss before it gets too late. Night patrol has probably already started, and it’ll be difficult to sneak back to our rooms.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, Byleth,” Yuri says. “I’ll get you boys and girls back to your rooms without much fuss. But let’s worry about that later.”

He walks past her, gesturing to the doorway with a sweep of his arms. “Shall we get going?”

“Alright! I’ve done enough standing around!” Balthus says. “C’mon, I know just the place to start. And don’t stray from us either. It’s easy to get lost in this place if you haven’t been here long.”

Constance joins him at the front. “Yes! So it would be helpful if everyone picks a companion to walk beside as we file through! And you can be assured that I, Constance von Nuvelle, will be a fountain of useful information should anyone have any questions, about anything whatsoever!”

Byleth is about to ask Claude if he wants to be her pair, until Yuri steps into her view. “How about you and I hang out here in the back?” he suggests, as Constance gets everyone together. “Keep an eye on our kids. We’re the ones responsible for our own pack, after all.”

“Okay, that’s fine with me.”

She only gets a quick glance of Claude eyeing the two of them before Hilda tugs at his sleeve for him to move along with the others up front. Byleth walks beside Yuri as they head back into the tunnels and up the stairway, out into the streets of Abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like Hilda, that last scene got away from me. It just took on a mind of its own. Started with that Hapi dialogue—which she actually says the first time Byleth talks to her in Explore, regardless of their gender (though I improvised a bit)—and then it evolved into... well, that. Lmao Hapi is actually my favorite of the wolf pups, so... she might get a bit more spotlight out of the quartette. Yuri too, for how much he flirts with Byleth, whether genuinely or not. I like all of them, though.
> 
> This chapter I included for a bit of levity because one particular battle in this arc is gonna be A Real Bad Time for certain characters, including Byleth. Need breather chapters now and again in preparation for these moments. I won't spoil anything, but if you played the DLC, you might know which battles I'm talking about....
> 
> _On the bright side_, there's more Claudeleth content to come next installment. It's one I've been itching to share for a certain reason, hee hee.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	37. XXXVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> A skirmish is avoided thanks to Hilda's mutual past with the man named Balthus—apparently Holst's best friend back in their adolescent years. The leader of the group of strangers, Yuri, introduces themselves as students of the secret Ashen Wolves House. Choosing to trust him, Byleth is told of Yuri's plight, and asks for her help in saving Abyss from a bunch of mercenaries who continuously show up to cause trouble, and finding the person pulling the strings. She agrees, as do her students, on the condition that it'll have to be after each academic day. With that pact of cooperation agreed upon, the conversation gets out of hand when Hapi brings up Byleth's appearance, saying the rumors of her beauty was over-exaggerated, which then fires up Hilda to prove her wrong. Opinions are squeezed out from everyone Hilda asks to share, and embarrassment is rampant with most of those unfortunate enough to be put on the spot. Eventually things calm down, and Yuri offers to take them all on a brief tour of Abyss.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXVII ⧽  
  
A Stroll Through Abyss

The tour starts with telling them the name of the central passage where they currently are, apparently called Chrysalis Row. It leads to room after room of dwellings for the Ashen Wolves students, among other miscellaneous areas. Next they weave through the marketplace, otherwise known as Burrow Street. Constance points out where they can get a variety of different material goods, along with services such as divination or healing. There’s also a blacksmith and a weapons shop.

They then head up to the second floor where Balthus introduces them to the Wilting Rose Inn. Looks more like a modest restaurant or pub, really, but it’s larger than any one Byleth has ever been to. Length-wise, it’s a little smaller than the monastery’s dining hall, but it has a second floor that leads to rooms she knows nothing about. The whole space is brightly lit via the dingy chandeliers from above.

“We don’t really have a teacher for the Ashen Wolves,” Yuri informs, bringing them over to the bar where a man is downing his drink, “but this guy helps us out a lot. Used to be a certified professor before.”

At the sound of Yuri’s voice, the man glances up at him. He doesn’t look much like the teachers Byleth’s used to seeing, as he’s dressed more like a commoner. He’s got some scruff around his jaw.

“Yuri! Hey,” he greets. “You need a recap of Friday’s lesson?”

“No, I’m good for now, Fritz. Just wanted to introduce you to a couple of people who’ll be hanging around Abyss for a few days.”

The man, Fritz, turns around on the stool, eyes going wide when he sees them. Brown eyes and sandy blond hair looking closer to a light brown. The aging on his face places him in his 40s if she has to guess. He sets his mug of ale on the counter, and leans forward, hands on his knees. “Wait a minute—the—I know these kids! The imperial princess, His Highness, and the duke’s grandson!”

“How do you know us, sir?” Dimitri asks.

Sighing, he holds his face in his hands. “That day… some months ago… I just ran away like a coward when those bandits attacked you….”

Claude’s eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “Wait, you mean you’re that same guy? The professor who came with us on our training camp? How’d you end up here?”

Fritz nods slowly. He looks up at each of them, frowning. “After I ran away, I heard talks about how furious Archbishop Rhea was with me. That a professor would really leave students to die while saving their own ass. Well, not in those words, but the gist of it.”

Staring at the floor, he continues, “Guilt weighed on me, but like everything else, I was too cowardly to… do something about it. Didn’t feel deserving to teach again after that. Found myself wandering here eventually. And Yuri,” he looks at the boy, smiling, “gave me another chance.”

The man regards the three heirs again. “I’m just glad that you’re all alive. And kudos to you, Princess Edelgard, for keeping calm under such a frenzy! I think you were the only one to not panic or hightail it out of there at the first sign of ‘em.”

“I’ve learned to quell any sort of emotions like that under duress,” she says, maybe a little too quickly. “I cannot lead F—Adrestia if something like a surprise attack from bandits unnerves me.”

“Well, you’re a much better person than me then.”

She says nothing, and then Fritz turns to Byleth. “Who’re you? You’re not dressed like a student.”

“I’m the replacement professor, Byleth Eisner.”

“_Ah_!” He leans back against the counter, arms at either side of him resting on the surface. “I heard about you. Blade Breaker’s daughter. Hey wait, why are you a professor? I heard you were stupidly young—and now I see that that’s true!”

“One of the many mysteries of the monastery,” Yuri says, “which we’ll all find out one day, maybe. For now, we gotta keep on with our tour. Until later, Fritz.”

“Alright,” he says, waving at them, already turning back around to his drink, “catch you kids later!”

She sort of wants to come back here for some advice from this Fritz man. Even if he did run away, he still has more experience as a professor. (_She’s_ definitely not certified, unlike him.) Perhaps she can ask him how he planned to teach, and maybe get some tips. She feels a little bad for him, although she can understand his guilt.

At this point, Byleth can never see herself abandoning students to meet their doom if it meant she’d be spared. Maybe, had she retained her emotionless state, she would’ve made harder choices. One day, she’ll have to thank her class for helping her learn more about the variety of feelings she’s capable of having. Ones she knows have contributed to keeping them all prepared for the worst-case scenario.

The Ashen Wolves don’t take them into the residential areas next. Nothing to really see, is what Hapi says. Just the homes for people who can’t fit in the buildings along Burrow Street. They then pass by the idol statue in a small ruined chapel. It’s tall, weathered by time, and carved to resemble a robed deity with large feathery wings. But the shroud it wears masks its face completely in shadow, and so it’s impossible to tell who this figure was supposed to be.

Linhardt is the most intrigued, although when he asks around, he finds out people are just praying to their own version of the divine. Most of the ones present aren’t from Fódlan, but he does find a few who believe in the goddess of this land.

There’s a bridge over a ravine to the east that Balthus doesn’t take them over, saying that’s for another day. But it leads to other tunnels. Eventually, they get back to the Abysskeeper, Zeke, and go into a room a few paces down.

“And_ this_ is our grand Shadow Library,” Constance presents with a flourish of her arms. “I spend quite a lot of my leisure time here. You will find plenty a tome about things the church has deemed unworthy to grace their shelves.”

It’s a circular room with rows and rows of books along the walls. In contrast to the monastery’s library, additional floors go _down_ instead of up. Byleth peers over the edge of the wooden railing. She can’t even count how many floors this thing descends into, but some of them eventually get lost in shadow. Only the first three floors have the sconces lit, otherwise, it might as well be just like the murky depths of the ocean.

“Seteth comes down here once in a while,” Yuri informs, leaning against the large open doorframe. “Brings books that aren’t for children’s eyes. Mainly the raunchy stuff. But also other things a bit more incriminating.”

“Incriminating, you say?” Claude asks, a grin slowly creeping onto his lips. “And how long has dear ol’ Seteth been doing this?”

“Since before we even came here,” Balthus replies. “At least, that’s what we’ve been told. He burns a few of ‘em sometimes, but otherwise this place is pretty much a dump for books the church thinks are inappropriate for the surface, or too ruined to use.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to look through here,” Linhardt says, smiling wide. “There’s so much I still don’t know. Maybe I’ll finally figure out about why Mi—,” he catches himself just in time, “why the Sword of the Creator is missing its Crest Stone.”

“You’ll have a bunch of opportunities to have fun down here at your own pace soon enough,” Yuri assures. “But that’s it for our tour. I’ll be taking you all back now.”

“We shall meet again come tomorrow’s evening!” Constance says. “And Byleth, dear, do not forget to bring your sword!”

“So yeah,” Hapi waves at them, “bye. See you tomorrow, I guess. Dress casually or something. I dunno. So people don’t keep staring at you guys because of your uniforms. Might start up trouble.”

Yuri leads Byleth and her students back the way they came through the tunnels. He stops just at the edge of it, bringing the vines of ivy down to cover the space. They stay there for a few moments to watch the patrol patterns of the knights.

“Okay, what floors do you all dorm on?”

“Everyone rooms on the second floor,” Byleth starts, “except Linhardt, Ashe, and myself.”

“Then I’ll take these four,” he points back to Claude, Dimitri, Edelgard, and Hilda, “the opposite direction down that walkway over there. You get the other two to their rooms by going through that archway sandwiched between the buildings.” He points to the stairs where Byleth had met her other three students earlier. “At least you’ll have the hedges to hide behind. Let’s each go our separate ways once those knights turn the corner.”

They wait for a few minutes until the soldiers are out of sight. Yuri urges his group to hurry out, “Feel free to stop by Abyss before dinner tomorrow, Byleth,” he says with a wink, before he’s leading Claude, Dimitri, Edelgard, and Hilda away.

Byleth quickly ushers Ashe and Linhardt down the short flight of stairs. They have to hide behind a large crate for a bit until the second pair of knights make their turn into the gardens. She sees to it that her two students get inside their dorms before she’s hurrying back to her own room.

Closing the door, she gives a light sigh, and starts to get ready for bed.

_Well that was quite an evening. I have a feeling this week will bring us many new discoveries and challenges. When are you going down to Abyss again?_

_Maybe just after dinner. I won’t eat then so I can snack on things in the marketplace._

_That is a sound plan. There was a stall with several different types of red meats and poultries. You should try that one first._

_Should I buy some assorted sugar-covered nuts from that confectionary shop? As a snack for after an actual meal, I mean._

_But of course. Bring enough gold with you, but not an excess. We do not want to get carried away._

_I know. I’ll be mindful of my spending on snacks._

She only gets an amused huff of disbelief from Sothis in return.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


The next day in class, Linhardt immediately falls asleep after she introduces Mercedes and Annette as everyone’s new classmates. When Lysithea points it out, Byleth gives the excuse that they’re all still trying to catch up on rest, so it’s fine. For now. But to not make it a habit.

She tells them there’s no homework this week until she finishes adjusting the lesson plan. Exams remain on the schedule, however, so they still need to take adequate notes during lecture. It’s also a way for Mercedes and Annette to ease into their new class structure. Apparently Byleth’s group is slightly behind Hanneman’s in lessons, but nothing too bad. The girls tell her it’s fine, since it’s good to have a review on things anyway, and they can help the others if they have any questions.

During lunch, Linhardt mentions in private he’ll be going down to Abyss as soon as dinner starts, so to not wait for him. Hilda and Ashe later tell her that they’ll be going together to prevent getting lost. But she has a feeling Hilda is going with him, specifically, to bargain hunt for accessory materials down in the Abyssian marketplace.

There are about two hours before the dinner period begins, and Byleth takes that time to readjust her lesson plan. She adds Mercedes and Annette to her attendance roster and on her grading sheet. Over the weekend, she’ll have to train with them to see where they are in combat. While she has an idea of how Mercedes fights, she’s still clueless to the amount of skill Annette has. But Hanneman told her she’s a very hard worker—his most studious student alongside Dimitri and Ingrid, so she shouldn’t have too much trouble adjusting to her new training regimen.

When it’s about time to leave for Abyss, there’s a knock at her door. She finds Claude standing there when she answers it, dressed down in casual wear like Hapi suggested. He also has a quiver and bow with him.

“Evening, Teach!” he greets. “Wanted to know if you’d like to ‘take a walk’ with me today. Y’know, just a casual stroll.”

Byleth nods. “Yes, that’s fine. Let’s get going then,” she says, locking her door. The Sword of the Creator is at her back in its homemade sheath as she and Claude try their best to be discreet while sneaking around the back of the first dormitory building. Finding no one around, or at their windows, they quickly slip into the tunnel hidden by the tendrils of ivy and the shade from the nearby edifices.

Claude begins to chatter about the kinds of things he might find in Abyss. The library is where he’ll be spending most of his time when he isn’t helping Yuri and the others.

“Speaking of…,” he pauses, “you think we can trust that guy?”

“He seemed genuine enough. Odd as it sounds, him saying he’ll kill us if we harm residents of Abyss makes me trust him. You don’t get more upfront than that.”

“I guess there’s a point to be made there. But I can see why he’s so protective of everyone here. What would the ‘surface dwellers’ think if the whereabouts of Abyss was spread around? How the church kinda just uses this place as their metaphorical rug to sweep things under.”

“It wouldn’t be beneficial to Abyssians. They already have problems as it is. We’ll solve this issue first, and then see if we’re able to help with other ones.”

The two go on in silence like that until Byleth gets a little anxious not saying anything. While she normally likes just spending a quiet moment with Claude, lately it’s made her feel… uncomfortable. Not in a bad way—she still likes spending time with him. But the atmosphere always feels warmer when he’s around.

To distract herself, she starts randomly quizzing him on today’s lecture. He complains in that good-natured way of his before he starts answering. When they get closer to the turn that’ll lead them to Zeke, Claude asks, “Alright, I think you get the picture now that I _am_ paying attention in class.”

“I know you do, but I need to keep you on your toes.”

“Then I think it’s only fair I do the same, Teach: how’d you know I had a combustible arrow when we were fighting against the Black Beast? I’d remember telling you about those little props, but I didn’t even hint at having them with me. Not once.”

She doesn’t falter in her walking pace, but she does hesitate a bit too long that Claude is now eyeing her with more focus than she’s used to.

“An educated guess,” she lies. “Even if you told me you didn’t have a plan, you don’t go into battle with just weapons and items people would expect an archer to take. I know you enough to assume you’ll have something crafty in your arsenal. If you didn’t have that arrow, then I’d ask if you had some kind of poison. But I assumed the former, because not all of your arrows had the same wood used to make the shaft. The combustible arrows require a different kind due to the heavier weight from the pouch. You’re resourceful, and I figured if anyone would prepare themselves to think outside the box, it’d be you.”

Claude still eyes her, but whether or not he truly believes her words, he gives a nod anyway. “Makes sense for a professor to know their students so well to suspect things like that. And I guess it’s a compliment.” He grins at her. “But that means I’ll just have to try harder to shroud what I may or may not be scheming.”

Sothis clicks her tongue, the split-second warning of her upcoming scolding.

_You have to be more cautious! Do not let others know about Divine Pulse!_

_I know, Sothis. It was a minor mishap._

_To anyone else, they might think nothing of it. But this student of yours is much too inquisitive for his own good. His eyes and ears seem to memorize even the finest of details told in passing. While that may be useful in dangerous situations, it can also bite us in the rear! Do not let such a folly happen again, young one._

_Sorry._

_You can apologize by watching what you say around this boy from now on!_

“The more we hang out,” Byleth tells him, “the more I’ll know how to tell if you’re actually scheming or not, Claude. So I highly doubt that.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. A fact.”

He arches an eyebrow. “A fact, is it? We’ll see whether or not that fact needs to be revised in the future.” He groans when his stomach growls. “Eh, I tried to hold off on eating dinner until we got here. Wanna see what kinds of food Abyss has for sale.” Smiling at her, he suggests, “How about you and I do a little tour for our taste buds, Teach? Maybe get a small sampling of everything. Saves on money, and we’ll pace ourselves so we can eat as much as possible.”

When her stomach rumbles in response, Claude laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Zeke notices them and says Yuri will meet them here in a little while. He also mentions Linhardt has already arrived and has been in the Shadow Library for well over an hour. Hilda and Ashe are somewhere shopping with an all-too-eager Constance. Dimitri and Edelgard have yet to appear.

No one really looks at them this time when they venture into Burrow Street. Claude is apparently a lot more versed in the world’s cultures, because he tells her what food stalls belong to which type of cuisine. When she asks him how he knows, he credits it to the amount of reading he does.

They try a refreshing fruity juice blend from Brigid, a thick breaded snack stuffed with meat from Albinea, a warm vegetable broth from Morfis, a noodle dish from Sreng, and another small bowl from Dagda that is a mix of rice with several kinds of savory ingredients and a sauce that Byleth has never eaten before. The last stall they come to belongs to an Almyran merchant selling meat and vegetable kebab.

He says something to Claude in Almyran, pointing to the side of his own head and then to Claude’s where his braid is, but he quickly waves him off, telling him he doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. The man looks a little disappointed, but apologizes, and says in broken Fodlanese how many skewers would they like, and the total cost.

“What was that all about?” Byleth asks him when they have the kebab in hand, two for each.

“Ah, who knows really,” replies Claude with a shrug. “I’m just glad he understood eventually that we had no clue what he was trying to say.”

They sit down on a nearby crate as they snack on their newest find. The spices on these make Byleth’s mouth water, and the meat is tender and juicy. A smoky flavor for the grilled vegetables. Overall, it’s delicious.

From the nearest stall to their left, a cat peeks at them from around the corner. It’s a long-hair breed with a bushy tail, and deep gray fur that almost makes it look blue. Its paws are black, as well as a few strands of fur around its turquoise eyes. The little creature stares up at Claude, unblinking.

He smiles back at it. “Sorry kitty, but I don’t think this food in particular is one you can eat. It has spices on it. Might be too much for your little tongue.” The cat hesitantly comes closer and sits up straight right in front of him. It blinks only once before it stares again.

Claude tries to ignore it, but it remains there. “Man, you really want treats, huh? Isn’t Abyss a smorgasbord for mice and rats? Or has the rest of the underground cat community gobbled them up already?”

It doesn’t even meow. Just sits there, still as a statue as it gazes at him. Sighing, Claude reaches into his pocket and takes out a wrapped cloth. “Fine, fine. You got me.” He unfurls it to reveal pieces of jerky tucked away. He tosses one onto the ground, and the cat immediately lunges for it. It lays down, nibbling on the piece of meat.

Chuckling, Claude says, “I don’t know how it figured I had treats on me. Brought these for myself as a snack, honestly.”

“Maybe it’s just a feline thing.”

He shrugs. When the cat is finished, it hops up onto the crate’s empty space to his left. It stares down at the treats, but doesn’t move. Then it looks up at him again, unblinking.

For a second, Claude stares back at it, before he laughs.

Slowly, he reaches out to pet its head with his free hand. It doesn’t purr, but it does finally close its eyes. He takes another treat and holds it out. The cat reaches with its paw to grab at it, and knocks it out of his fingers before it starts to nibble on its newest handout.

“I have a feeling you’re not gonna leave me alone until you’ve eaten every last one of these,” he says, dumping the jerky in front of it. The cat immediately lays its languid body over the small pile as it continues to eat its current piece. All of its legs are stretched out making it look like a very fuzzy rectangle. “For a stray,” he pets its head again. It doesn’t react this time, “you sure are a pretty kitty, aren’t you? Your fur isn’t even matted. Wonder if someone is taking care of you down here.”

“Looks like it’s fond of you,” Byleth notes. “Doesn’t even bite.”

Smiling at the creature, he says, “Guess so. At least it doesn’t turn away free pets like that brown furball up on the surface.” His smile disappears, only for a split second, before he’s grinning again. He glances at Byleth, and then looks back to the animal. “You know, my feline friend, you’re pretty quiet for a cat. Not even a single meow or a purr. And look at all those snacks you’re hoarding. Reminds me of a certain someone. For the sake of simplicity, I think I’ll call you… Kitty Teach.”

“That cat is not me,” Byleth immediately states.

“Oh yes she is.”

“You don’t even know if it’s female.”

“You didn’t know if Kitty Claude was male.”

Well, he got her there.

At her following silence, Claude says to his new furry acquaintance, “Then I hearby dub thee Kitty Teach.” He sets the skewer on the cloth and then brings the cat into his lap once she’s done eating her current piece of jerky. She starts trying to wiggle out of his hold, but stops when he hovers a new piece of jerky in front of her mouth. She chews on it sideways until she can bite off a piece, and stays there until she’s finished. Repeats the same motions along the snack. Doesn’t even fuss. Almost like a ragdoll, even.

Byleth tries to pet her, but then gets a sharp look from the cat once her hand is on her head. Though she doesn’t growl, her big blue eyes stare into the depths of her soul, and her fur starts to bristle. Byleth takes her hand back, and the cat relaxes again in Claude’s lap, munching on the jerky.

He laughs. “Yeah, she’s _definitely_ you. You don’t like it when people try to bother you while you’re eating either.”

“Why can you pet her then?”

“I’m giving her free food,” he dismisses. “Also because I’m special, obviously.”

She feels slightly annoyed she can’t pet her… feline self, but then again Byleth never once claimed to understand cats, or animals in general. She guesses their personalities are as different as people’s, including those they might be the creature counterpart to.

_Well, at least Kitty Claude likes me_, she thinks as she goes back to her own snack.

“Teach,” Claude starts, after staring out at the evening crowd for a few silent minutes, “tell me what you see. Not in the general sense, like, people and wares, but… beyond that. I’m curious.”

She takes a few more bites out of her kebab, watching the different people pass by. A wide variety of ages, and while most speak some level of Fodlanese, she hears tongues that she can’t recognize. Everyone is dressed humbly, but not all have the same garbs that commoners of Fódlan would wear.

“I see the world condensed,” she says simply.

“Just a liiittle more detailed than that.”

“A mix of people coming together from all over to find sanctuary in the same place. Despite speaking different languages, they try to communicate in hand gestures, gifts, through food and drink. They don’t second-guess from the way they smile at each other, and laugh together. These people live as a community, one based on familiarity despite coming from varying cultures. Nothing is really ‘different’ to them.”

Claude makes a pleased hum. “That’s what I see too. They’re just _people_ living together regardless of where they come from. Imagine if there was a place like this on the surface. Where we can look out at this scene, but on a grander scale.”

“If there is a place like that, I’d like to visit it someday.”

She turns to him when she feels his stare on her. He looks a little surprised, but soon his lips slowly blossom into a smile. “You mean that? Would you—if there really was a place like that, would you genuinely like to see it, Teach?”

Byleth nods, and finishes chewing her current bite before she says, “I would. How about you, Claude?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then maybe one day, whenever we find out if a place like that does exist, we should visit it together.”

He grins wide now, turning back to look at the crowd. “I’d like that a lot, actually,” is all he says before continuing to snack on the skewer.

For a while they sit like that, just observing the kinds of people that pass them by. Making small talk about visiting the non-food shops to see what they can find. Kitty Byleth just stays put where she is, eating. Claude says he’d like to look at the merchant’s shop with a bunch of different flowers and plants to see if he can mix new poisons, or create new remedies for things like headaches or upset stomachs. He’d have to know what the flora are called first, of course.

“And that’s what I’ll be doing in the Shadow Library on my free time,” he explains. “Pretty sure I’ll find something useful.”

Claude shakes his head, staring at his now bare kebab as his other hand absentmindedly scratches between Kitty Byleth’s ears. “Who knew an entire town was hiding beneath Garreg Mach? And a secret fourth house to boot. Secrets upon secrets—oh I’m just itching to know them all!” And he looks exactly like a cat that got the cream with how wide he’s grinning. _Cute…. _“I’m sure Rhea knows all about this place. Gods, how many secrets does that lady have?”

“Why don’t we head there now? Zeke did say to come back in a while. Better to be close by since some time has already passed. And I’m a little curious about what Seteth tries to hide down here.”

“You’re starting to sound like me, Teach,” Claude teases. “Some might even say I’m a bad influence.” He gently removes Kitty Byleth from his lap, leaving her on the crate. She doesn’t bother looking at her human dinner-providers. Just goes back to eating the few pieces of jerky left.

“Well, they’d be wrong about that last part,” she replies, hopping off the crate, “and thinking that I care for what they believe about me spending time with you in the first place.”

He gives a laugh, tossing away their skewers in the nearest trash bin. They make their way through the crowd again back up to where Zeke is still standing guard. When he sees them, he says Yuri isn’t here yet, but Dimitri and Edelgard did finally come by. They each went their own ways once they got down to the marketplace.

Claude and Byleth enter the Shadow Library and find Linhardt sitting on the floor with stacks and stacks of books around him. They greet him, but he just waves a hand at them without even looking up from the current page he’s on. A pouch nearly overflowing with a variety of cookies is sitting on his lap. Every now and again he’ll idly reach for one as he continues through his current read.

“I’ll start looking over here,” Byleth tells Claude.

“Alright, I’ll be on the other side.”

She starts to skim the spines of the books for anything on foreign flora or botany tomes. But there’s no organization whatsoever. As if they’ve just been stowed away in the first free space that was found. A lot of these texts are just erotic fictional tales, but there are also several books on cooking, agriculture, and myths from other lands. She doubts Seteth put them all here. The library is too huge for him to have been the sole contributor to its shelves. Byleth is sure this is just a community space where people store books that they buy and don’t need anymore, although she can only speculate at this point.

One book in particular catches her eye. A leather cover. Worn, and doesn’t have a title on it until she opens it to the first page: _Musings of Intrapersonal Relationships of the Four Saints_.

Byleth flips through it, finding that all of the pages are handwritten. Looks less like a widely distributed book, and more like a journal. The language in it is a little dated, so it’s a bit hard for her to read. But it says things in here how Seiros spent a lot of her leisure time with Wilhelm I, the co-founder of the Adrestian Empire. That Cichol was often seen with a particular woman as they both read to a group of children, and so on.

There’s a passage that really piques her curiosity, simply because it’s such a mediocre piece of gossip that it shouldn’t be interesting in the first place:

> _And for as many as have had interacted with the fair Saints, none have witnessed sight of their ears! Even ethereal Saint Cethleann has only ever fashioned her long locks over the sides of her head. And speaking of locks, they are among the few in all of Fódlan thus far to have such peculiar shades of verdant tresses. They say it is what happens when blessed by the Goddess. Is that why people have whispered that their strands glitter like the mother of pearl, under a particular type of light at a particular angle?_

“What’s got you so engrossed there, Teach?” Claude asks, suddenly behind her. Damn, his steps are as quiet as a mouse’s.

“Some weird journal full of gossip about the relationships the Saints had with people. Who knows how much of it is true. There’s not even an author’s name in here.”

“Hmm,” and she doesn’t move when she feels him rest his chin on her shoulder, “lots of things are crossed out.” Claude reaches around with an arm to flip the page. “Wonder if there are any saucy tales in here. Would make sense why Seteth would want this thing banished. Can’t have the image of the Saints tainted.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” is all she’s able to say when he partially hugs her around the waist with his free arm. It’s feeling warm again, maybe because of their combined body heats. Not that she particularly minds. Abyss is cooler than up on the surface.

Claude doesn’t seem to notice this gesture, and she doesn’t want to tell him. Partly because it’s not a big deal, and partly because she doesn’t… want to, anyway.

They flip through more of the pages, reading aloud. Sometimes she hears the beginnings of a snicker as Claude goes over more of the asinine assumptions. Otherwise, they’re mainly reading a paragraph each. Being this close, she can smell the pine scent on him, and wonders if he’d been drinking that tea before they got down here. Or maybe it’s some kind of scented oil.

Whatever it is, she likes it.

“From what this person said,” Claude starts when they finally finish the journal, which is incomplete, “it sounds like the Saints were just regular people. Dunno why the church insists on elevating them to the divine. Seems like they’d get more believers if everyone knew the saints were just like them. Although the green hair thing…”

Byleth hums. “That’s really inconsequential, don’t you think? Both Ignatz and Linhardt have green hair, and they don’t ‘shimmer’ like the inside of an abalone.”

“Maybe. Lin would probably hate it if that were true. Wouldn’t be able to hide and nap wherever under those circumstances. Ignatz would just be embarrassed, having so much attention drawn to him.” Claude pauses for a second, before he says, “What about you, Teach? Think you could pull off ‘verdant tresses’?”

“Probably not. Or maybe I can. Dunno really. Like I was trying to tell Hilda yesterday, I don’t care what I look like, or what other people think of my appearance.”

“And that’s a good attitude to have.” Claude goes quiet again. She feels the arm around her waist hold her just the slightest bit tighter. “I think you could pull it off,” he says, lowering his voice so only she can hear. “Not that there’s anything you should change about yourself. But I feel like you could wear anything—dye your hair whatever color—and you’d still be as you are now.”

She wants to ask what that means, but decides against it. “And you? Do you think you could pull off green hair, Claude?”

His huff sounds more like a contained laugh. “If I wanted to look like a forest spirit, maybe. I’m good with my plain dark brown curls, thanks.”

“I like them too.”

Claude hums, muttering a light-hearted thanks and some joke about people likening him to an imp anyway, so maybe one day he’d try it.

“No, I like your curls just as they are,” Byleth immediately defends.

“Oh?” And when he wraps his other arm around her waist to join the first, she can picture the mischievous smile on his lips as he asks, “Are you trying to butter me up for something, Teach?” His breath is so close to her ear that she almost shivers. Almost. “You gonna surprise me with a pop quiz again on our lectures?”

“You caught me,” she says, numb to any quip of a comeback. “Claude, what are you doing?” As soon as she feels his hold on her loosen, she immediately adds, “Not that I’m saying it bothers me. Just curious as to why it’s happening. Isn’t bending down like this uncomfortable for you?”

“Mm, no. A hug, is all it is,” he replies. “You could say I was starting to feel spoiled when we all did that group hug before. Wanted to be greedy and see what a solo hug from you would feel like; this is how I did it last time back then. I mean, Ignatz got one, and before that, I heard Sylvain did too.”

She hesitates for a second, before asking, “And where did you hear that?”

“Around.”

“Well, Dorothea also hugged me once. I’m just not used to it.”

They’re both silent as she closes the journal, just staring at the cover. Her finger traces the edge of the binding. “Sorry for the sudden gesture,” Claude casually apologizes. “We’re pretty familiar already, you and I; thought it wouldn’t bother you. But I still may have overstepped. Are you uncomfortable if I hug you, Teach?”

“No. Why would I be?” she reasons, despite feeling discomfort through body temperature. But the kind of warmth she’s feeling right now isn’t repulsive or unsettling. She just… doesn’t know what to call it. Makes her chest feel light, and her stomach flutter.

“Just making sure,” he says quietly, arms gently tightening their hold again. “Last thing I wanna do is make my partner uncomfortable.”

“If you ever are, I’ll be sure to let you know. Loud and clear. Painfully even.”

Claude breathes out a semblance of a laugh. “Message received.”

“And what are we doing in this dark little corner all by ourselves, kids?” comes Yuri’s voice from her other side. “Nothing _naughty_, perhaps?”

Almost immediately Claude lets her go, and Byleth doesn’t know why she feels disappointed. “We were just looking through this,” she tells Yuri, presenting to him the journal.

“Did he need to be glued to your back?”

“Lighting sucks in here,” Claude replies dismissively. “Was just getting a closer look at the contents of the book.”

Yuri smirks. “You could’ve walked over to a candle. Plenty of them around the walls.”

“Well all of ‘em are occupied. Anyway, gonna go check on Linhardt. Make sure he’s not too lost in his little mountain of books.” Claude walks over to the sleepy mage who is still sitting on the ground, snacking on cookies as he reads.

Yuri watches him leave. “You’re awfully close to him, aren’t you? In more ways than one.”

“It was a hug, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ah yes, I too hug friends from behind, my chin resting on their shoulders as I whisper into their ears. Or maybe it’s just that Claude is unconventional with the ways he shows friendship.”

“I didn’t mind it.”

“And I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Maybe one day you and I will even reach that level of comfort to have such close and intimate embraces. Anyway,” he faces her, “sorry I took so long. Was just double-checking things before we start going after those goons. Zeke told me everyone else is already here, so what’s say we round ‘em all up and bring them back to the classroom?”

She follows him to gather the others. Linhardt still has his nose stuck in his current book, so Byleth opts to carry him in her arms as he continues to read. Doesn’t even notice he’s being moved. Claude laughs at the display, carrying the cookie pouch and handing it out when Linhardt blindly grabs for it. When they find the others, they all shake their heads at the curious mage, Edelgard looking the most annoyed by him.

Once they’re in the classroom, Byleth sets Linhardt down on the nearest seat. He only looks up when Edelgard snatches the book from his hands. He blinks once, then sighs. “Well, that was fun while it lasted.”

“Yuri,” starts Ashe, “um, where are the others? Constance got pulled away by Hapi earlier when we were shopping.”

“And I haven’t seen Baltie at all since I got down here,” Hilda notes.

“Busy,” he replies. “Now that you’re all here, this is what we’ll be—,” he looks to the doorway. A man is there out of breath, and Yuri walks over to him. They have a brief conversation before he scurries off. “Sorry, bringing you here to the class was a waste. Quickly. Follow me.”

As they walk back up to Burrow Street, Byleth notices that lots of shops are starting to close. She doesn’t think it’s all that late yet. There are also more armed Abyssians roaming around.

“Is something going on?” asks Dimitri.

“Actually, yes.” Yuri stops them all just before the wide bridge that Byleth saw yesterday. He frowns as he says, “Earlier today, I took some of my guys to close up the last entrance that the mercenaries came through. But as we were occupied with doing that, they somehow found another one. That’s why I was late with coming to get you all. Had to make sure the trap was ready for them.”

“What trap?” asks Byleth.

“Patience, patience. We’ll wait for the other three, and then get going.”

In the meantime, Yuri guides them to a nearby crate filled with different kinds of armor. It’s not as polished and stitched as the standard protective garb that’s given to them by the monastery, but it’s better than nothing. When Hilda asks why he didn’t just ask them to dress in armor before heading down here, Yuri tells her it’d be obvious they were all planning to go somewhere.

“You’ll just have to make do with these,” he says. “Not as fancy as what you’re used to, but it should get the job done well enough.”

Constance shows up then, telling him she’s finished with shrouding their living quarters as a precaution. Hapi and Balthus show up next with the latter reporting that the mercenaries have been led into the underground to the east. The former complains that she’s not at all eager to participate like, “Chatterbox and the stuffed shirts.” Balthus laughs, telling her it’ll be great to see how well everyone handles themselves, and that he’ll finally get a read on them as people.

“What’s even the point?” she retorts. “We’re all gonna die anyway.”

“Maybe,” Yuri agrees, “but if we don’t do anything, we’ll die a lot sooner. Knowing that everything is disguised, we can proceed to the next phase of the plan.”

“No one will die so long as we work together,” Byleth tries. “And I’ll do my part—as will my students—to help this plan succeed.”

Hapi shrugs. “Fine. We need more bodies to throw at our enemies anyway. Thanks for volunteering.”

“You’re a real ball of sunshine, aren’t you?” Claude asks.

“You must have real deep dimples from all that smiling, huh?”

“Alright, Hapi,” Yuri soothes. “None of us like this situation, but it should end more favorably with extra helping hands. Let’s not waste any more time.”

With everyone armed, Yuri takes them over the bridge as he tells them of his plan. He intends to draw the mercenaries deep underground. An ambush. Getting into scuffles up on the surface would attract attention from the church, and they really don’t want to draw their ire right now. Or ever.

Once they’re across the bridge, they go through another tunnel and exit out into what looks like an arena. It’s considerably large, with statues of various generic warriors placed around the edges every several feet. There is an outer ring, where they currently stand, that leads down into another ring encircling a platform in the center.

“What an impressive sight,” Dimitri awes. “Looks almost like an arena, or some sort of performance hall. Although, it seems like it was in ruins.”

“It was,” Yuri replies with a nod. “Heard about this place from some guy back in town. Debris was blocking the entrance, so I cleared it up day by day until it was passable. As we speak, my men are drawing the mercenaries down here, and more allies of mine should arrive soon once they’re done getting ready.”

“A fine plan!” Constance says. “And an adequate stage to demonstrate my glorious skills with the magic arts, ones I have spent a considerable amount of time perfecting!”

“Let’s not get too crazy though, Coco,” Hapi cautions.

“Yeah,” agrees Balthus. “Normally I’m all for just letting loose, but this place looks kinda decrepit. Wouldn’t want the ruins turning _us_ into ruins.”

“We need to be careful,” Byleth adds with a nod. “Though I would like to see all of your fighting styles, this place is still underground, and magic is a powerful tool. We don’t want any unnecessary risk.”

“You as well?” Frowning, Constance clicks her tongue against her teeth. “I cannot fathom why I am being treated in such a manner! It is the duty of the nobility to preserve the people’s safety. Of course I will not become so enthralled in the offense that I would recklessly damage this fine architecture! Or risk threatening our adjacent Abyss because of it! Preposterous!”

“Hmm,” Hapi glances up at the near endless ceiling, “wonder if it’d be okay to sigh here. Large. Isolated. Would be nice, if that’s true.”

Giving her a glance, Edelgard asks, “What do you mean, ‘sigh’?”

“If Hapi sighs,” starts Balthus, “monsters come running. I wish I was joking,” which earns him a mildly alarmed look from the princess.

Yuri shakes his head, smiling. “For now, no sighing, Hapi. And Constance, you can still be glorious, just in moderation. Because of how massive this arena is, should the surrounding area be damaged too much, it’ll fall. And take Abyss along with it. Remember that we’re luring our enemies here to spare our home on the other side. Don’t lose sight of that.”

“Yeah, got it,” agrees Hapi. “Would cause trouble for Elfie too if that happened.”

_Who’s Elfie?_

There are voices behind them. Several groups of people—almost the size of battalions—shout at Yuri that they’re ready to go. These must be the allies that he was talking about.

One of men runs up to their group, holding some large object wrapped in cloth. He gives it to Balthus, and then a much smaller wrapped object to Yuri.

“Thank you kindly,” he says, removing the cloth to reveal some strange ornamentation he fits onto his right hand, opposite of the palm side. It covers his wrist and makes his hand look almost skeletal with the way it’s shaped. He fits each finger into a set of rings that cover every knuckle, and are all attached to the center of the object where a Crest Stone is nestled on a plate of bone.

Balthus gives a pleased shout as he tears the cloth off of the bundle in his arms. There’s a pair of what look like gauntlets, but not any that Byleth has seen before. They’re a little larger, and have three fang-like protrusions on each one. Two above, and one below in between. The guard covers up to his elbows and ends in a plate-like shield of bone with three spikes sticking out from the sides. Each gauntlet has a Crest Stone nestled at the front, partially hidden by its own small alcove within the weapon.

“This is my own shiny,” Yuri says to Byleth, holding up his hand to present to her his Relic. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“And these babies,” Balthus laughs, clashing the gauntlets together, “are mine. Haven’t used ‘em in a while, so it’ll be great to get these beauties back in action.”

Linhardt’s eyes grow wide like saucers, smile nearly reaching his ears. “Are those Relics?! I don’t ever recall there being fetters or gauntlets among them. You two must have Crests then, yes? Oh, please, let me get a better look! I want to see what—”

“Hey, Linny,” Hapi starts as someone brings her a black steed, “you can eyeball them later. Right now we kinda have to focus on not dying.” She hops onto its back, taking it by the reins with her left hand, dark magic starting to manifest in her right.

Constance thanks the person who brings her a pegasus, and she promptly climbs onto its back with a graceful sweep of her legs, drawing her skirts up just enough so she can fit her boots through the stirrups on either side of the saddle. Much like Hapi’s horse, the animal is entirely black. Byleth didn’t even know pegasi come in colors other than white. She’ll have to ask her about it later.

Once in the air, Constance shouts down at them, “Our aggressors have arrived! And there is quite a significant number of them!”

The plethora of mercenaries appear from the east gate of the arena, just like Balthus reported earlier. Byleth doubts they’re here just to be here. Whoever keeps sending them down into Abyss is looking for something, most likely. Perhaps the Relics?

Her class takes out their weapons, ready to engage, despite how much Hilda and Linhardt whine about fighting again.

Yuri walks up beside her, looking at the far stairway where the mercenaries are pouring out of. “This’ll be our first look into how you fight, and how well you’ve taught your students. We don’t have time for a detailed plan, but what do you think about splitting up? Keep your class together, my friends will each take their own battalion, and you and I can get up close and personal with our ‘guests’. That is, if you trust your students to handle their own.”

“I do, but I still would like to have them in my line of sight as a precaution.”

“Fair enough. We won’t stray too far from them.” He unsheathes a steel sword, and gives it a twirl by the hilt. “I’ll have your back if you have mine. Deal?”

Byleth nods. “Deal.”

With a grin, he says, “Then let’s give our visitors a fine welcome they won’t soon forget.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitty Byleth has made her debut! 🐱💖 You don't know how HARD it was to keep my lips zipped about this on Twitter. I wanted to surprise everyone. Lol Maybe Kitty Claude will become fast friends with her whenever they meet? Hmm.... 🤔
> 
> Abyss has conflicting information about its residents. Surface people and even other Abyssians like to remind Byleth that it's filled with criminal-like residents, but apparently most of the population aren't actually scary? They're just outcasts trying to live their life under these circumstances and aren't looking for trouble. So I kinda wanted to emphasize that a bit more. I _highly doubt_ the church would let them exist here if it was mostly filled with thugs.
> 
> So, despite Yuri and Balthus having a paralogue each where you retrieve their Relics, I'm not including it in this fic. I can't really find a place for them to fit, so I'm sticking to them having it during this story arc like in the DLC. I might reference their paralogues somehow when explaining how they got them, though.
> 
> Did you all enjoy that Claudeleth content? I sure hope so, because another one is coming in Chapter 39. 👀 <strike>I wish timeskip Claude would hold me in his big strong arms and against his firm chest, too</strike>.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	38. XXXVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and company get a tour of Abyss from Yuri and his friends before they head back up to the monastery. The next day, she and Claude venture back down and spend some time browsing the marketplace for things to snack on. Foods from all kinds of cultures outside of Fodlan prompts a discussion of imagining a place of different peoples up on the surface. When Byleth says she'd like to visit a place like that one day, Claude grows happy at the thought. While they eat, they meet a stray cat that he dubs Kitty Byleth for her quiet attitude and her appetite, as she eats all the jerky that he brought with him to snack on. They visit the Shadow Library next to pass more time, and as Byleth reads from an old journal, Claude joins her. His chin resting on her shoulder, and a hug from behind, has her feel significantly warm and light, though she doesn't understand why. Nor does she understand why she feels disappointed when Yuri interrupts them to tell them of their mission. They're to help get rid of mercenaries in an abandoned arena, and it's there she sees both he and Balthus have Heroes' Relics.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXVIII ⧽  
  
Underground Ambush

Even though Byleth told Yuri she’d have his back, she doubts he actually needs much help at all.

Any mercenary who tries to come at him is cut down almost the immediate second afterward. The fetters glow as he moves around, plunging his sword with keen precision into the gaps of armor, regardless of who is trying to fight him. And even if someone more formidable charges toward him, like a heavily armored knight, he just flicks his hand and a blast of wind magic easily makes them crumple into a lifeless heap on the ground. It makes fighting her own foes easier.

She blinks when she sees an archer aiming for him, and whips her sword up to the first level of the arena. Striking him directly in the chest, he falls over as he bleeds out on the floor.

“We’ve taken care of all the ones on this side,” Yuri tells her, nudging his foot against the arm of his newest kill.

“I don’t think ‘we’ is appropriate here. You did most of the work.”

He smiles at her. “Considerate _and_ humble. I can see why your students are quick to defend you. But I wouldn’t have been able to slice through all of these mooks if you weren’t watching the shadows that I couldn’t see.” He nods to the archer she felled just moments before. “So it’s still a small victory ‘we’ earned.”

“I suppose.” She looks over to the rest of the arena where the mercenaries are clashing with armed Abyssians and her class. Constance is leading the aerial charge while on top of her pegasus, blasting fire magic at bodies instead of the obstacles around. “We should go over and help.”

Yuri grabs her wrist as she turns away. Byleth looks at him, and he says, “Did you notice that you’re bleeding?” He points to a shallow cut on her thigh.

“Oh, it’s just a scratch. Although I do feel it stinging now that you’ve mentioned it to me.”

Laughing, he says, “Just a scratch huh? Despite blood dripping down your leg. Better take care of it before we help the others.” Pale green magic gathers in his palm. “May I?” When she nods, he slowly runs his hand over the wound as the laceration mends to a close. His palm is warm against her skin. Fingers long and slender. A pianist’s hand, maybe, if he had a different life.

His touch lingers when he gets to the end of the wound. There isn’t even a scar, or if there is, it’s faint.

“Better?” he asks, pulling away.

Nodding she tells him, “Thank you. I didn’t know you could use white magic. Thought you didn’t like the church.”

“I dislike the way the church is run, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have faith in the goddess. But we can get familiar with each other in private later,” he suggests in a more playful tone. “Right now we need to get rid of the rats.”

They charge ahead, and Byleth whips her sword at one of the brawlers who’s heading toward Linhardt. It strikes him in the back and he falls. Her student apparently notices now and sighs loudly. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” she gently scolds.

“I’m trying, but we’re not all like you and Yuri who can just tear through enemy ranks. I’ve been—,” when he hears a cry, he looks over to see Ashe countering a lancer who slashed at his arm. Linhardt casts a Physic spell on him, and Ashe gives him a grateful smile, “busy, trying to watch out for everyone from back here so they can keep going. Although both Dimitri and Hapi have had to take down some people who were coming toward me.”

Balthus is the furthest away from them, just barreling through mercs with his Relic. The pair of gauntlets is almost entirely coated by blood at this point. Hilda is nearby, tossing a hand axe at a wyvern rider aiming for Constance who is busy casting her wind spells at other fliers to throw them off their mounts. The axe strikes itself deep in the side of the wyvern, making it plummet to the ground. Its rider is crushed underneath the creature’s weight upon impact, causing a bloody pool to seep around them.

A charging cavalier aims for Hilda with his lance raised, but Balthus calls after her to turn around. She only manages to dodge, getting slashed in the leg with it. Byleth runs to her, but stops when Balthus charges at the horseman from behind, knocking the creature almost three whole yards away.

Hilda clutches at her leg and Balthus kneels down next to her, taking off his right gauntlet to cast a healing spell over her wound.

“Surprised?” Yuri asks from beside her, reminding her she shouldn’t get distracted. “Balthus might not frequent the church, but he’s pretty enthusiastic about the goddess. Has a few healing spells up his sleeve too. Don’t need to worry about him. He’ll take good care of Hilda while you’re preoccupied.”

Byleth places her confidence in these new allies of hers and focuses on keeping Linhardt safe as she guides them through the fray. He needs to be closer to heal the others directly so as not to exhaust his stamina so much on Physic spells. Dimitri needs the least amount of attention since he pretty much defeats his foes with a single impalement of his lance or javelin. Claude watches his back, sniping from behind at others who try to sneak up on the prince.

Edelgard is on the other side of the arena swinging her axe as she twirls on her heels, almost effortless. Hapi is nearby, finishing off another group of mercenaries with dark magic spells.

And just when Yuri and his gang cut through the last remaining goons on their side, Constance yells from above, “Alas, we must continue to endeavor! There is another rush of them! Look!”

From the eastern side, a second and third band of mercenaries come pouring out, screaming battle cries as they scramble through the first level of the arena.

“Is this for real?!” Claude shouts. “Running out of arrows here!”

Ashe grabs his lance from where it’s strapped on his back. “Oh, my quiver is already empty! Profe—,” his eyes widen, and he points to the south-eastern corner of the arena, “wh-what? Professor! It’s him! That man from the Holy Mausoleum!”

From the shadows, behind one of the pillars in the distance, she sees the Death Knight ride up to the far staircase on horseback. Last time, they got lucky and didn’t have to fight him. But if he’s here, could he be part of the hired help to wreck Abyss?

“No, wait!” Byleth calls after Edelgard as the girl makes a beeline toward him, axe raised. “Wait, Edel—!”

Her first swing is blocked by his scythe, and she keeps pushing him backward, away from the central commotion. Byleth leaves Linhardt in Dimitri’s care before she’s running toward the Death Knight, her sword already thrown over her shoulder. She’ll risk the wave of reinforcements, but Edelgard has absolutely no backup.

Yuri appears in front of her, suddenly, and she nearly crashes into him. “Wait, Byleth. You can’t just cut through this on your own. I have a plan. Hapi!”

“What?” she shouts from where she’s already preparing another spell.

“You need to sigh!”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Get closer to the mob, and sigh! Let them deal with it.”

“Alright, whatever you say, Yuri-bird,” she replies with a shake of her head. Hapi rides her steed a few ways away from the north-eastern stairway. She reins it to a stop, takes a deep breath, and exhales a loud sigh.

The wall nearest to them rumbles so violently that even the mercenaries stop to look for the source. And through the solid earth, a large, worm-like creature blasts through, plopping onto the ground. It roars, making the ceiling tremble just the slightest bit as dirt dusts onto the area.

Byleth hears Claude curse somewhere in the background. Ashe is yelling something too, but it’s hard to hear over the screams of the mercenaries as the worm starts to attack them.

“What did…,” she tries to say, but Yuri is already pulling her toward Edelgard.

“I’ll explain later. So long as Hapi is close enough to the monster, and doesn’t get incapacitated or killed by our enemies, your class will be fine.”

Most of the mercenaries are scrambling back, trying to get up the stairway from where they came, but the worm lunges at them, streaking the top floor a deep red as it devours anyone who gets in its way.

Those still standing attack the creature with their weapons or magic spells. But this monster, much like the Black Beast, has a protective hide, except with an exoskeleton-like skin rather than scales of a reptile. The worm doesn’t have any eyes that Byleth can see from here, so it must be using its other senses to attack the intruders.

Yuri and Byleth head toward Edelgard, but just as they get there, the Death Knight steers his horse back, and warps away like last time. The princess is panting as sweat-slicked strands of hair cover her forehead. She has a shallow cut along her upper left arm, but otherwise, nothing major. The blade of her axe is chipped in several places. She tosses it on the ground, and takes out the spare strapped to her hip.

“Edelgard, are you alright?” Byleth asks.

“I’m fine, Professor. Thank you for asking. I… didn’t expect this opponent to be more resilient than the other mercenaries.”

“We faced him before—my class and I, when we were guarding the Holy Mausoleum. Something tells me he’s not affiliated with these ruffians.”

“Do you know that for sure?” she asks, looking up at her as she wipes the hair away from her face.

“No. But he didn’t appear with all the others, and that’s enough to make me suspicious he’s an independent party.”

Edelgard watches her for a split second. “Well, I hope he doesn’t come back. Admittedly, I had a bit of a rough time trying to fend him off. He looked too imposing to be ignored.”

“You did well, all things considered,” Byleth compliments. “But let’s regroup with the others.”

As they’re walking back to the center of the arena, she notices Yuri is eyeing Edelgard from where he strides beside her. She doesn’t know what for, unless he’s impressed she was able to handle the Death Knight all on her own, especially with a close-range weapon and on foot.

When they’ve all been checked for injuries and healed, Linhardt says he can’t do it anymore. He’s exhausted. Even if he wanted to, he can’t conjure up another Heal or Physic. “So none of you better get hurt, because I can’t help you anymore right now.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Yuri tells him. “We just need to wait for the monster to finish its meal.”

An arrow shoots from over his shoulder to a single mage who was hiding behind the corner of the platform nearest to them. Yuri looks back to find Claude with his bow drawn. “Let’s not get comfortable now, Yuri. We gotta pick off the strays. You would’ve been a canvas for blue and black splotches of dark magic if not for me.”

“Fair,” he agrees with a smirk. “We shouldn’t take a seat on the ground just yet. But most of us are exhausted. Ashe has no arrows, Linhardt’s run out of stamina for healing, and many of our weapons are damaged. That’s why we need to rely on the monster to do as much work as it can for us.”

“And then what?” Hilda asks. “When it’s done having dinner, it’ll come after us for dessert.”

“Not while Hapi’s here.”

Ashe swallows, his grip on the lance tightening. “Are you saying she… can control it?”

Yuri shakes his head. “Not exactly. But it’ll stay focused on her, and her only, which is good since she knows how to handle them the best out of all of us. I’ll let her tell the story on her own time though. For now, let’s keep alert.”

Linhardt pointedly turns his gaze away from the bloodbath, and covers his ears as the mercenary groups scream. Actually, Byleth notices most of them are staring at the ground, or the wall ahead instead of the cluster of figures near the staircase. Hapi is the lone person close enough to the beast to really see what’s going on. She wonders if she’s closing her eyes too, and trying to block out the noise.

Constance lands her pegasus next to them. “Such a… brutal way to perish,” she comments, looking a little green. “But in this case, I suppose it is… beneficial to us.”

The screams die down after a few more minutes, with only a small handful of mercenaries escaping through the frenzy. Hapi easily topples them with her magic, and Yuri joins her in a blink of an eye.

“How’d he do that?” asks Claude. “That’s cheating, right? Just… warping wherever?”

“It’s his Relic,” Balthus explains. “It’s not big and showy like mine; not even really a ‘weapon’ technically. More like a tool. He’s not exactly warping. Just moving a lot faster than the rest of us.”

And then come the cries of the monster.

Yet _another_ wave of mercenaries pushes through the stairway, aiming their attacks at the creature. Being battered from all sides, it sways, too stunned to strike at them. One impalement through the head from a pegasus rider has it toppling to the ground. It disappears in the same onyx and crimson threads as the Black Beast, except there’s no human body left behind this time. Just a pile of iridescent ores of some kind that the mercenaries quickly take as their spoils among the corpses of their profession.

Constance quickly gets back on her pegasus and flies into the air as Hapi and Yuri trap one stream of goons trying to come down the second stairway in front of them. But the rest run around them, even taking aim when the two have their back turned, and Byleth is rushing forward again, whipping her sword out.

Everyone else scatters to collide with them, but a few slip by even Balthus and Dimitri, managing to make it to the other side of the arena. To the entrance that leads to the Abyssian bridge.

Then they’re thrown back by a large blast of what she thinks is the Bolganone spell.

Constance is too far away to have casted it, and Byleth doesn’t know if that’s a spell she can even use. Whoever is the wielder can’t be seen beyond the flames, and Byleth is too preoccupied trying to help Yuri and Hapi to check.

Despite a couple of close calls with her students, everyone manages to defeat—what she hopes is—the final wave of mercenaries. Linhardt can’t do much to heal the new wounds of his peers, so Balthus takes over, although Hilda notes it’s not as clean as the former’s.

“Sure it’s not the _prettiest_ job,” he debates, helping to seal a laceration on Dimitri’s shoulder, “but he’s not bleeding anymore, right?”

“Hmm, I guess,” Hilda tells him. “Just a shame since Dimitri has such nice skin. How do you do it?”

He flushes slightly. “I am… not sure what you mean. I don’t particularly care for a thoroughly hygienic routine like some people prefer to do, but erm, thank you all the same, Hilda.”

From above them, Constance calls, “Ah, as always, our guardian has once again rescued us from what would have been a disastrous outcome!” Landing her pegasus, she says, “Aelfric! I am relieved to see you!”

_Wait a minute… Aelfric?_

Byleth turns to the approaching man. The same one who she met at her mother’s grave for a brief moment. He looks surprised to see her there, but then it’s immediately replaced with a smile.

“I’m glad I arrived just in time,” he tells them. Glancing around the arena, he adds, “Although, I can only guess there were still causalities with the Abyssians who participated….”

Yuri frowns, looking a little somber. He goes to his nearest gang member, a man with a deep, healing cut on his thigh. Yuri whispers something to him and he goes off with a few other men to identify which bodies belong to their group.

“Aelfric,” he then says, “thanks for assisting us at the end there.”

“Of course, Yuri. I came down to Abyss to find you, but then I heard the residents say you had come this way, and told them to lock up their doors a little earlier. Although, I didn’t really help all that much, did I?”

“If you saved at least one life by taking down the stragglers, that’s still a life saved.” Turning to Byleth and her class, he says, “Everyone, this is Aelfric. Aelfric, everyone.”

Smiling, the man nods. “Hello, Professor Byleth. We meet again. I assume these are your students?”

“Woah, wait.” Claude walks up beside her and asks. “Teach, you know this guy?” Yuri and the other three Ashen Wolves look just as stunned.

“I’ve only met him once, and briefly. He was visiting my mother’s grave.”

Aelfric nods, smoothing out his robes. “As I said to you before, Professor, I knew your parents. I was friends with your mother, Sitri, and by association, Jeralt. I even attended their wedding. Although, it’s been several long years since I last saw your father. I’ve been busy as of late, so I haven’t been able to chat with him. And he’s often off on assignments too, apparently.”

“Well, small world,” Yuri comments.

Laughing, Balthus says, “Guess we can trust you then, since you’ve already met Aelfric. Although seeing how you fight was very convincing too.”

“Elfie pretty much took us all in,” Hapi explains. “Each of us had our reasons for avoiding the surface, and he made sure we had a place to stay.”

“That is true,” agrees the man. “Though Lady Rhea granted me dominion over Abyss, I am merely a monk among the ranks of the church. I do my best to keep this as a sanctuary for lost souls, but… there are many in the church who would rather this place not exist…. And it is for that reason that knights can’t be relied on to help.”

“Like I said before,” Yuri starts, “the Ashen Wolves protect Abyss because of this very thing. Aelfric counts on us to keep it safe when he can’t be here. And, now, I guess you’re also included in its safeguard, Byleth. At least temporarily.”

Clearing his throat, Aelfric looks to her, pausing. “Professor, I’m actually glad I ran into you down here. I was going to approach you privately about it once I got Lady Rhea’s permission. Which, admittedly, took… a while for my mere suggestion to be given serious thought.”

“And what suggestion is that?”

“Well, though I consider the Ashen Wolves to be the fourth house of the Officers Academy, they’re still unofficial, and still widely a secret. So, with your permission, and that of Lady Rhea’s,” he smiles again, “I wanted to ask if you would take these students—or at least, these four—under your wing as your own pupils.”

Everyone gives wide-eyed looks at him, even Yuri. “Wait, Aelfric, not that I have anything against Byleth, but we’re just fine with you down here.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “I’m grateful you and the others feel that way. But I’m just a mere guardian. I can protect you, but not enrich your minds or truly train you to live up to your potential in your preferred weapon of choice. However, even just after 5 months, the professor has earned quite the reputation. Her students are excelling remarkably fast in both academics and physical performance.”

Looking apologetic, he says to Byleth, “I know I am asking a lot from you, but, I would be in your debt if you would add them to your class. I was told your roster is considerably small, compared to every other teacher’s, so I hope it isn’t much trouble.”

“That’s true, but,” she looks over to Yuri who’s watching her closely. Balthus, Hapi, and Constance seem expectant of an answer too, “they’re all in Abyss for their own reasons. I don’t want to endanger them. My class always has a monthly mission to complete. And most of the time, that takes us away from the monastery for at least a week minimum.”

“There’s a lot to discuss,” Yuri adds, stepping closer to her but looking at Aelfric. “I’m not opposed to the idea, but you did just spring this on her all of a sudden.”

“Yes, that is true. I suppose I should’ve spoken to you four first as well.”

“We are not dismissing the suggestion,” Constance quickly assures. “Simply… there are accommodations, perhaps, that need to be addressed for our particular situations. Should Professor Byleth even agree to this, that is. As it currently stands, she is already helping us after class to protect Abyss.”

“Maybe when this whole thing is over,” Byleth says to Aelfric, “we can talk about it.” A random, quick glance to Claude, and she sees he looks a little relieved for whatever reason.

She still gets a small smile from the monk. “That is reasonable. Then, I will relay this to Lady Rhea. Sooner than later, actually, so I must take my leave for now. Although I do look forward to speaking with you again, Professor. Ah, actually, Yuri, would you like me to stay for… any burial rites?”

Yuri looks over to his men who have laid out more than a handful of their allies in a row. Or whatever is left of them from the attack. “That’d be… helpful, yeah.”

“Do you want us to stay?” Byleth asks gently.

Shaking his head, he says, “No, it’s fine. You need to get back up to the surface anyway, right? A weeknight and all. But,” his lips quirk up on one side, “there’s still work to be done. You and your students don’t need to return tomorrow. I’ll come get you personally for our next course of action when I have it. Constance, would you mind helping them tidy up so they don’t cause suspicion back up there?”

“Yes, but of course! They shall look as refreshed as possible!”

With nothing else to say, Byleth dismisses herself and her students from their company. Linhardt tries to bribe her with cookies to allow him to stay so he can study the two new Relics, but Edelgard is already carrying him away as he complains.

She sort of wants to seek Aelfric out later, to ask about her parents. But a part of her feels guilty that she should be asking Jeralt this instead. If she does, he might get sad thinking back on cherished memories, and she doesn’t want to see him frown like that because of something she asked.

_No, I’ll just wait for him to tell me when he’s ready._

  
  
  
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After the morning half of class the following day, Byleth considers telling her students to not tag along the next Abyssian assignment until the weekend. She doesn’t want them falling behind or being too tired to pay attention when they inevitably do have to fight more enemies targeting the place.

During her lunch hour, just as she’s getting her tray, a monk comes up to her and says someone would like to meet with her. Gives her directions to a room in the back of the cathedral. She has to pass the well on the left side of the church, and enter through the wooden door that leads up a flight of stairs. She comes to a hallway, and goes to the door at the farthest corner, just next to an arched window. Taking her lunch with her, she knocks, and is greeted by Aelfric.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” he says with a smile. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch, but I couldn’t find any other feasible time where you wouldn’t be busy, or resting. Please, do take a seat.” He gestures to a table in the middle of the room.

She assumes this place is his chambers. And for being a ‘monk’, he sure does have spacious living quarters. She guesses this is the common area, and the door in the back leads to his bedroom. The curtains from the single arched window are drawn back, letting in the early afternoon sun. There’s a desk, several shelves with books and other miscellaneous objects, and a large deep red carpet laid out in the center of the room.

Byleth places her tray at the table as he sits across from her. “Is there anything I can do for you, Aelfric?”

“Ah, no. Not at the moment. I simply wished to… to speak with you. About your parents. Would that be alright?”

He wants to talk about them? Should she let him? Jeralt hasn’t even—well, if he’s offering, then… it shouldn’t be a bad thing to listen. Right? Besides, she’d like some outside perspective on her parents’ blossoming relationship. To learn everything she can about the mother she never got to meet.

“Okay,” she agrees with a nod as she sits.

Smiling, Aelfric tells her, “If there is anything in particular you’d like to know, please feel free to ask and I will answer as best as I can. Or, if you simply wish to eat while I speak, you may do so as well.”

“I’d like to know more about both of them. I don’t know what my father’s life was like when he was a knight. And I know even less about my mother, Sitri.” She starts cutting into her fish, watching it peel away from the bigger piece. “I don’t ask my father to tell me about her because he looks… sad, when he does speak of her. So, anything you have to share, I’d like to hear it.”

Frowning, the monk replies, “Yes, I can understand. Sitri and Jeralt were very happy together. Some thought it odd of a pairing at first. But I suppose that’s how some of these things develop.” He leans back in his chair. “Sitri was kind, and wise. I’d often find her in the library, her nose buried in a book. As for Jeralt, well, he was very much like he is now,” he says lightly. “His knights would have done just about anything for him.”

Much like the mercenaries would give life and limb for him too. Byleth can understand.

Aelfric goes on to say that Jeralt’s leisure time was mostly spent instructing children of the monastery who wanted to learn combat and tactics. It’s what earned him admiration from Sitri, and even Aelfric himself. (Maybe_ he_ should’ve been a teacher instead of her.)

“You… admired my father?”

“Oh yes, very much. We both did. He was a hero to your mother and I. Later, when I heard they were to be married, well, it came as a bit of a surprise. He was like a mentor to me.”

He knew that Sitri became enamored with Jeralt over time. But she found it difficult to express her emotions. (Which, is what Jeralt had told Byleth before; guess it’s true.) Sitri was somewhat shy, but over time, she warmed up to him. Loved to listen to his experiences from outside the monastery since she couldn’t leave. Her health was frail, so she could only travel within the premises.

But even so, it never really brought her down. Not when Jeralt took time out of every day to spend a moment with her. Share stories with his striking words and boisterous laugh. Brought her a new flower from his travels every single time.

“Listening to him must have given her a great deal of hope,” Aelfric says, staring off at nothing, looking content. “As for me, I could never become like Jeralt, no matter how much I wished for it.” His smile falls as he grows quiet.

“You wanted to be like my father?”

“Ah,” he looks to her now, as if remembering she’s still there, “I suppose I did, yes. But I was hardly the only one. Many people admired your father back then, as they do now. The stories of his experiences really brought all sorts of company to him when he’d get into the mood of sharing them. Although, he’d tell stories from things recorded a century ago, as though he had lived them himself.”

He taps his fingers on the table, once again lost in thought. “Regardless of how much one fervently studies the stories of old, that is no easy task to act as if he had been there. His descriptions were always so vivid. A part of me felt like he should have taken up writing novels as a hobby of sorts.”

Byleth takes another bite of her meal. “Professor,” she hums in response to him, “it’s my understanding that you have been traveling with your father since, well, forever I suppose. That he was the one who trained you in the blade. Forgive me for overstepping, but, do you regret your sedentary life here at the monastery?”

She finishes her current bite before she says, “No. I traveled a lot, yes, and saw many things. But, while I was appointed as a professor by Lady Rhea at first, I grew to like it, actually. Even though I instruct my students, they teach me in their own ways too. I enjoy my work here.”

Aelfric gives a small laugh. “Well then, I suppose I have no choice but to assist you however I can. To shape young minds must afford you a unique perspective on the world.”

“It does. I feel more… connected to my emotions than I did as a mercenary.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Yuri has only told me a little about you so far, but, from what he’s seen, your students—even those outside of your class—seem to have nothing but high regards of you. And… if you would hear me out just a bit more, Professor?”

She nods, and he continues, “It is my hope that you will live a full life—experiencing the world, fostering strong relationships with people. Both with your students, and those outside your class. Do so for your mother, dear Sitri, who did not have the luxury. And whose wish will regrettably never be granted.”

“Is this why you asked me to teach the Ashen Wolves? To build more connections?”

Aelfric sighs. He folds his hands together on the table surface. “I… cannot deny that my request had some personal feelings tied to it, yes. Her Grace will likely not think kindly on such a motivator. She had told me you already had your hands full, but, I still insisted up to a certain extent. I am grateful that she eventually agreed.”

“I don’t mind it. I’m just concerned for the safety of my would-be new students.”

“Yes, I know. That is why I requested proper academy uniforms for them so they may blend in more. And you don’t have to instruct the entire house. You may just work with Yuri and his three friends. Then, perhaps, simply pass on your lectures to him so he can bring them down to Abyss for the others to learn.”

That sounds reasonable. Although she doesn’t know who she should negotiate with. If Aelfric is the one who secured a place for Yuri and the others, would she report to him on their progress? Or Seteth? Or even Rhea? Or maybe they’ll just have her leave them be, and whatever they learn is what they learn.

But, it’d be a shame if they couldn’t graduate at the end of the year like everyone else.

“Please do not fret, Professor,” comes Aelfric’s soft voice. “Beyond my personal motive, I believe that you alone can guide my flock to even greater heights. And, perhaps, you may learn from them too, as you have with your other students. They will not disappoint you.”

“I don’t think they will. From just one battle, I can tell they’re experienced. Maybe even more than my current roster. I’ll have to readjust my combat lessons because of it, but it won’t be a problem regardless.”

The bell tolls again, signaling the end of lunch.

“My apologies,” he says, standing up from his chair. “I didn’t think I had taken so much of your lunch break! Please, you can leave your tray here and I will take it back to the dining hall. I would not want you to be late to your class on my account.”

Byleth swipes her bread roll and chomps on it as Aelfric escorts her to the door.

“Thank you again for allowing us this time to talk, Professor,” he says with a grateful smile. When she’s out in the hallway, he adds, “Know that, should you need anything, I am here for you. Always.”

She leaves with a good bye and polite nod.

  
  
  
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Yuri doesn’t find her until the next day. Academics have just ended, and as she’s about to start cleaning up, he appears at the door. Not in his usual uniform. But dressed like a regular civilian who would frequent the monastery. He doesn’t even have makeup on, and his hair is tied back in a short ponytail.

“Hello, friend. Or, should I call you Professor?”

“Hello, Yuri. And no, you can still call me ‘Byleth’,” she says as she gathers her papers. “I’m not yet your instructor.”

“True. But there’s a certain familiarity to addressing you by your first name.”

“I don’t mind it. Claude and Hapi each have their nicknames for me. I don’t see why it’d be weird if you call me ‘Byleth’ out in the open.”

He offers to help her clean up the classroom before taking a walk around. Inspects a few of the books, the organization of her desk, the empty fireplace, and the now clean chalkboard. “You have sunflowers in here,” he says, pointing to the corner where a pot of them had been left from Claude’s surprise celebration.

“Yes. We had Claude’s birthday party in here a while back and used some flowers to brighten up the space. Everyone sort of wanted to leave them for decoration, so they’re by all the windows.”

“Cute. Makes it more homey. I could see myself learning in here.” He slips onto the surface of one of the student desks. Coincidentally, on Claude’s usual space. “Any front row seats taken?”

“Well, Claude has self-proclaimed that aisle seat as his where you’re currently at. One of my other students, Sylvain, sits next to him.”

A smirk plays upon his lips, eyeing her. “I can see why. You always wear such tight clothes like that to class?”

She’s wearing the summer uniform today. It’s beige and white instead of the usual dark colors for the rest of the year. Skirt slightly more modest in length than her casual shorts. Her blouse is sleeveless. Ruffles down the middle with gold embroidered buttons. “They’re comfortable for the weather. I don’t like wearing things that hinder movement too much.”

“I see, I see. That why you have your hair up in a ponytail today?”

Humming, she leans against the front of her desk. “It’s out of my face. I’ll probably have it like this out on the battlefield too from now on. Hilda says it’s stylish and practical at the same time.”

“And I’d have to agree with her. Tell me,” he crosses his arms, “who else sits where in your class?”

Byleth takes him through the columns of desks, going off a mental list of which student has which seat on most days. All the front rows are taken; Yuri feigns disappointment. She notes that she doesn’t have a seating chart, but most spaces on the tables are unofficially taken by certain students. As her class is small, even with the addition of Mercedes and Annette, there’s still a lot of vacant desks.

“Guess I’ll take this middle aisle seat then,” he says when she gets to it.

“You really want to join my class?”

“Why not?” Yuri shrugs. “We won’t be able to stay after class, but I’m sure we can make it to most lectures. I’ve already got plans in motion should you want to accept us. Although there are some days we might not even attend. But don’t worry; I’ll come on my leisure time to copy your lecture notes to share with the others. Haven’t made a final decision yet, but, I’m inclined toward an affirmative after taking a look for myself.”

“And I wouldn’t mind having you four here either.” _Well, maybe Balthus will be a problem because of his age, but…_ “I just hope I don’t bore you with my teaching style.”

“No, I doubt you will.” He steps closer, a smolder on his lips. “I’m very interested in getting an actual classroom experience—my last one was kinda interrupted. And we won’t cause trouble. Or, at least intentionally.”

“Thank you, but I’m used to handling rambunctious situations. My class is full of students with unique personalities, so, it’s been a small challenge trying to keep the peace here sometimes.”

“I can help you with that.” Byleth leans further back against the desk. Yuri smiles, his hands on either side of her, flat on the surface. Blocking her in. “If anyone gets out of line, I’d be more than happy to assist. I think you and I can work well together, Byleth.” His breath is minty. Warm against her lips, a few inches away. “We already have in battle. Be fun to try it in less perilous situations. Don’t you think?”

He’s very close now that she can see the irises of his lavender eyes clearly. He smells of jasmine, and she knows that’s not an easy plant to come by in Fódlan. She wonders if he bought it somewhere underground.

“I’d like to get to know you more, Yuri, yes.”

Grinning, he steps away. “Well, when all is said and done down in Abyss, I’ll let you know our final verdict. You still haven’t fully earned my trust, but you’re getting there.”

She tells him she’ll do what she can to help them out. As she slings the strap of her satchel over her shoulder, with her ledger in her other arm, she asks him about the aftermath of the arena battle. That if he’d like, she can gather some flowers from the greenhouse to lay them on the graves of his fallen allies.

His smile is softer then. “Adorable, I tell you. But no, it’s alright. Thanks for the offer anyway. There’s not adequate space for a cemetery down in Abyss, so we just cremate everyone. Far away from our residential areas.”

“Ah, I see.”

Nodding, Yuri leans back on the aisle seat across from her. “Now, what I came here for: we have our next course of action. From what intel we squeezed out of the few mercs that survived,” and she has a feeling those interrogated are no longer living, “they don’t know who their employer is. And they didn’t ask questions with the sum of gold they were given either. That means whoever keeps sending bands of them down there comes from wealth, and they want to keep their reputation squeaky clean.”

“You don’t have any idea who it could possibly be?”

Crossing his arms, he shakes his head. “The mercs came from everywhere around Fódlan. It’s difficult to pinpoint which noble from what territory sicced them on us. But they’re after something. Or trying to create enough diversions that they can infiltrate Abyss themselves to find it.”

When she asks if he even knows what it could possibly be, he says, “Constance did some deep research based on our interrogations, and thinks she’s figured it out. We spoke about it with Aelfric, but he was pretty stubborn about us not risking our lives to find this little treasure that, for all we know, doesn’t actually exist. If we died, he couldn’t live with himself. And the church would probably have his head too, for one reason or another. I can understand from that angle, but I feel like he’s being a bit overprotective.”

“And… you need my help to find this object?”

“Yours, and your students’, if you’re still up for it.”

“I am, but I’ll ask them if they still want to attend.”

“Good. Think you can have an answer for me later tonight? Say around, after dinner time? I’ll drop by to hear it.”

“I can do that, yes.”

“Alright then.” Pushing off from the desk, he says, “I’ll see you later, Byleth.” He gives her another one of his crooked smiles before leaving.

As he’s walking out of the classroom, Dorothea passes by, looking at him curiously. He only nods politely, excusing himself as he rounds the corner. Her surprise slowly morphs into a grin as she steps into the class. “Oooh, Professor, who was that? He’s _gorgeous_.”

“He’s an acquaintance.” Not exactly a lie. She can’t count Yuri and the other wolves as friends just yet.

“Really? _Just_ an acquaintance? He was pretty close to you a few moments ago. Leaning over you—kinda intimately I might add. Chest to chest. And. You. Just. Let. Him.”

“Dorothea, were you eavesdropping?”

She goes slightly pink in the cheeks, but doesn’t look embarrassed. “No, not in the traditional sense. I just happened to forget a hair comb in my classroom. But as I was going to go get it, I passed by here, and that’s when I saw him. Although, I didn’t want to be nosey, so I minded my own business. But then I… well… curiosity got the cat and I came back this way. But, as you just saw, he had left before I could genuinely try to snoop around.”

Clearing her throat, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, Professor. You don’t have to tell me who he is. But, if you’re not involved, I’d certainly like to know for myself,” she says with a wink.

“He’s a bit of a private person, so, I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I revealed who he was.”

Gasping, Dorothea’s face brightens. “Is he a noble? Maybe even a prince? Or—no, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I like the suspense. I’m sure I’ll see him again.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because,” she says with a shrug, “people can’t get enough of you, of course,” she teases. “He’ll come back eventually, sooo I hope you don’t mind me sticking around more often now that there’s a _mysterious_ man in your life.”

She wouldn’t say he’s necessarily any kind of significant man in her life. But, Byleth does have to agree that Yuri is a bit of an intriguing guy. And she honestly wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a semi-breather chapter, since I didn't want to go into too much detail with the arena battle. Nothing special really happens in it, anyway. But the next two? Oh boy. That's when our cast is gonna have A Real Bad Time. Since this DLC is just back-to-back battling, I wanna pace myself so readers aren't overwhelmed with consecutive action scenes. I didn't plan on writing out all of these battles anyway, since I feel like the less important ones can be cut down or excluded altogether.
> 
> Trying my best to balance out canon dialogue lines with my own original takes on it, but some of these I think are fine to just leave as is. Hmm, but it makes it feel like just a bunch of exposition, so... I'll be more mindful of it in future scenes of this arc. :/
> 
> Honestly can't wait for 39 and 40. They've been some of my favorites to write of the recent installments. Each for different reasons. And next chapter, we get more Claudeleth. Hope you're looking forward to it. :3
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	39. XXXIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and her class help the Ashen Wolves fend off waves of mercenaries in the underground arena. Just before a few of them manage to escape into Abyss, they're stoped with a Bolganone spell by Aelfric. Yuri and the other wolves reveal it was he who each gave them a haven, and Aelfric himself informs that he's in charge of Abyss as a whole, despite just being a simple monk. He asks Byleth for the favor of taking the wolves under her wing, but she says she won't come to a decision yet until she's done helping them with the issue of intruders. The next day, Aelfric calls her into his quarters to talk about her parents, mainly Sitri, since she never knew her mother. But they only scratch the surface before her lunch break ends. Later, when class has ended, Yuri visits her up on the surface to tell her their next objective: find a treasure that the intruders are apparently after. He's a little too comfortable in his lack of personal space with her, which Dorothea later admits she unintentionally saw it. She has the wrong idea, but Byleth is curious about him regardless.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XXXIX ⧽  
  
Into the Deep

** _5th of the Horsebow Moon, 1180 ━_ **

Now, he won’t say he’s trying to snoop into Byleth’s personal life. Because, well honestly she doesn’t really have one, first off. And this is more about him trying to make sure these Ashen Wolves can be trusted.

Claude just _happened_ to overhear Dorothea telling Petra about this ‘mysterious’ man she saw in Byleth’s classroom the other day. A ‘gorgeous’ man with lavender hair. How intimately close he was, leaning over her against a table, chest to chest. (Sure, Claude himself has had close contact with her via the hug in the Shadow Library, but that’s _different_. They’re actually friends. Yuri and Byleth _aren’t_.)

Then there’s the fact that Claude coincidentally saw Yuri enter her room that evening. The same day after she asked her students and their royal highnesses if they’d like to continue aiding in the Abyssian investigation. Although, to be fair, he didn’t stay long. But, who knows what could’ve happened in those several few minutes?

Which, normally, would not be any of his business. However, considering Yuri isn’t a guy to take lightly, Claude has a right to be cautious and concerned about his instructor who is beloved by all of his peers.

So that’s why he’s waiting outside Byleth’s door right now. To take a walk with her down to Abyss. As house leader, it’s his responsibility to make sure his professor is well at all times.

“Oh.” She blinks when she opens the door, already prepared for the venture underground again in her myrmidon garbs. Her hair is up in a high ponytail again. Looks nice. “Claude, I thought you were going to go ‘take a walk’ with Hilda and Ashe.”

“Had a few things to do that I remembered last minute. Told them not to wait up. Then I decided to see if you had already gone down there. Since you haven’t, why don’t we take a stroll again like last time?”

She only nods before locking her door and following him back down to Abyss. It’s a silent walk, which is normal for her. Despite opening up a little more, she’s still someone who doesn’t speak unless spoken to most of the time. He hopes that’ll change soon.

“So, Teach,” he starts, just to make conversation, “why do you think Hapi can summon monsters with her sighs?”

“I don’t know,” she replies plainly. “I’m assuming she’ll tell us on her own time. But I figure it’s the reason she’s down here in Abyss.”

“Good guess; that’s what I think too. Now we just need to figure out why Constance and Yuri are holed up in this place. Constance? I don’t think it was something awful, if you asked me. But Yuri? I dunno about that guy. He said he’s used to ‘dealing’ with nobles, so, maybe he’s down here for murder or something.”

“Could be.”

“And you’re alright with that? Alright with potentially letting someone who may or may not have murdered other people into our little glade of fawns?”

“I was a mercenary before; I’ve killed lots of people. We have too as a class.”

“Sure,” he says with a shrug, “but, that was in self-defense and to save others. Yuri though, I dunno. He’s an enigma.”

“I’m still unfamiliar with him as a person,” Byleth gives him a glance, “so I won’t judge until I do. He cares about the people in Abyss, the ones who were tossed away from up on the surface. Don’t know what he did to get put here, but until he feels comfortable sharing that story with me, I’ll judge him on his actions of today, not yesterday.”

Leave it to her to be irresponsibly fair. And yet, from a logical standpoint, he can understand her reasoning. That doesn’t mean he has to like it. Or agree in this particular situation with this specific individual.

Claude doesn’t press the topic further since he has a feeling he’ll just get the same answer but differently worded. Instead he asks her what she thinks is this treasure that the mysterious benefactor of the mercenaries is supposedly after. She figures it’s something extremely valuable to send that many goons down here. Which has several possibilities, one of which being that this treasure—whatever it or they may be—could be heavily guarded. And it’s likely this benefactor wanted to hire mercs as fodder to see how complex or dangerous the guard is.

“You mean like booby traps?”

“Possibly. It wouldn’t be the first time someone with wealth will use us mercenaries as bait for something. Paying us to dig our own graves as a test.” If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she sounds a little upset at that last bit.

“Mercenaries are usually made up of people who don’t have a home to return to, for one reason or another,” she continues. “And a lot of the time, no one to even miss them should they die. It’s why we’re expendable. Both to wealthy nobles, and even the common folk who have roots in a settlement, whether that’s a village, town, or city. Because of our profession, we’re not considered ‘people’ in the same way everyone else is. Our lives don’t hold as much value compared to regular citizens or the elite class.”

It’s something he should’ve figured, but for whatever reason, didn’t think to. And maybe that’s part of why she’s been nicknamed the Ashen Demon. Perhaps, from the very beginning, she was never considered an actual person by anyone but her father. Just a ‘creepy’ sentient sword to be used for the highest bidder. He wonders what kind of jobs Jeralt’s mercenaries had to go on to survive. While he doesn’t think the Blade Breaker himself is malevolent, he can only assume sometimes he had to get his hands dirty in the muck, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

But it was either that, or his company—including his only child—might starve and die out in the wilderness. No home to call their own for shelter. Just a band of tools to be utilized until they’re chipped or broken, and then thrown in the trash heap. Out of sight, out of mind.

Gives a whole different perspective on the arena battle, now.

“You’re not expendable, Teach,” Claude says honestly. “No one is.”

Byleth shrugs. “That’s how others saw me, my father, and our company. Better to lose no-name mercs than a lord’s own soldiers. Better one of our people die than a farmhand who tends to the land to feed their village, and the lord of their territory. Better us to take the fall than the local blacksmith who people know has a boisterous laugh and likes a hearty meal. Or the town’s inn keepers who keep wide-eyed travelers cozy from the rain and snow. Or the neighborhood little boy who likes to run errands for people during the day before going home to his mother for supper.”

She’s quiet for only a second. “For everyone who isn’t us, it’s better if us mercs die doing these jobs we get paid to do. Because this is the profession we chose, and therefore the fault is our own. Nothing of value will be lost.”

“Teach….”

“I’m not saying that’s how I saw myself, my father, or my fellow mercenaries. Don’t know if I mattered in the grand scheme of things, really. But our company mattered to each other, and to my father. And because we mattered only to each other, we did what we could to keep ourselves alive and taken care of.”

Byleth taps her fingers against the hilt of the steel sword at her hip. “The mercs who were hired to terrorize Abyss, their employer was cut from the same cloth as the rest of those with enough coin to exhaust people like us until we can’t keep going. So, while I killed them to protect Abyss, to protect you and everyone else, I can’t say I hated them. They were doing what they were paid to do.”

They soon turn the corner that will take them to Zeke, who he can see several feet away. “I’m not saying those mercenaries were good people,” she clarifies, “but I also didn’t know them. And while I don’t know Yuri, I do know—I can see, that his gang and the Ashen Wolves are people who matter to him. That everyone here, for one reason or another, feels like they were expendable up on the surface. And Yuri is trying his best to protect this place so they don’t have to feel like that ever again. That’s why—at least for now—I can trust him.”

Claude doesn’t get a chance to respond once they reach Zeke. Yuri is also there today, as if he had been waiting for them. He says the others are already in the classroom and that they’re the last to arrive. Byleth gets complimented on her ponytail and she only gives him a small thanks before he’s leading them into the marketplace.

And there really isn’t a moment for Claude to… explore, for a lack of a better word, this mindset Byleth has about her ex-role as a mercenary. Ask her if anyone personally treated her like she was expendable. Because the thought of someone seriously thinking of her as that undervalued, makes something bitter sear within him.

_Even though you’re wrong, Teach, I can understand what that feels like. For your life to not have value in the eyes of everyone around you. But unlike me, you’re…_

He loses his train of thought as Yuri announces their next phase in this plan. Constance takes over for most of it, saying the mysterious aggressor is likely after an object of legend called the Chalice of Beginnings. An ancient artifact of the church that is said to resurrect the dead, crafted by the order of Saint Seiros herself and the Four Apostles. Used to carry out something called the Rite of Rising.

“Never even heard of these apostles,” Claude says.

“I am not astonished in the least,” she replies. “For you see, records of the apostles are almost non-existent. No one is even certain what became of them. I myself have only just learned about them as well.”

“Resurrect the dead?” Linhardt rubs at his chin. “I wager many, many people would want to get their hands on something like that. But I have to imagine it still would’ve been a difficult ritual.”

“It was,” Yuri nods, “according to what we could dig up on it. What Aelfric managed to find too, once we told him of our hunch. Although he mentioned the sole record he found might not even be authentic. What it did state though is that the ritual failed, so the Four Apostles bound it with powerful magic to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.”

Dimitri makes a small hum of understanding. “I surmise it is hidden in an impossible location, then. Constance, in your research, did it say where the chalice might even be?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact!” she replies with a big smile. “Apparently, it is stowed away in a place called Chasm of the Bound. A story that I have been told by my father some years ago when I was a child. To hear Aelfric speak of it too, well, I could not have been more intrigued! So of course I conducted a thorough investigation to where this chasm might be. I spent the last day looking for a possible entryway to find, what? That is right—a new tunnel here in Abyss! One yet to be ventured!”

She gives a haughty laugh that would put Lorenz to shame. Head thrown back, and a dainty hand partially covering her mouth. “Fortune favors the bold, and you shall find none more audacious than Constance von Nuvelle!”

“This already sounds dangerous,” comments Hilda. “I don’t know if my delicate constitution can handle going underneath unmapped tunnels and things. Professor,” she says, turning to Byleth, “maybe this one I can just, you know, stay here to make sure those baddies from before don’t have extra friends.”

“Hilda, this trek into these new tunnels might be long, and we’ll need to stay motivated to get through them. You’re our class’s motivator aren’t you? Our morale will decline if we don’t have someone radiant in our company to keep us going.”

Pouting, Hilda picks at a thread of her sleeve. “Well, if you put it like _that_… I mean, you’re not wrong. I _am_ a beam of sunshine. Although I reeeally should…,” then she sighs, “okay, Professor, you’ve pulled my leg. I’ll come along again. As support. I can’t very well deny you when what you say is the absolute truth, now can I?”

_Huh, Teach is learning how to dish out her own brand of charm. And it… actually worked._

“Will Aelfric be okay with us trying to find this place?” asks Ashe.

Balthus huffs, shaking his head. “He was adamant in us not ‘acting recklessly’, although I can tell he was conflicted. Since, well, if we don’t solve this problem, the people of Abyss will continue to suffer from attacks like the one we prevented the other day.”

“That is why we absolutely must retrieve the chalice!” Constance reiterates.

“Coco,” Hapi starts with a frown, “Elfie seemed pretty set in him not wanting us to risk our necks for something that might not even be real.”

“Ah… yes. Though I would not like to meet his ire, it is imperative that we find this treasure before our assailants do. And, we shall not be alone in this endeavor anyhow! Professor Byleth, might I have your word that you will help us with this task? If you and your students are not busy, of course.”

Byleth looks to Claude, and then the rest of their little party. “If we’re going into territory unknown—into these tunnels you say you found, we can at least do that part today, maybe.”

“While I agree with mapping out a route to the treasure first,” Claude turns to Constance, “do you even know what kind of binding spell was placed on this glorified cup? We shouldn’t just trudge through the dark mysterious depths without at least knowing how to disarm the thing that probably has a trap waiting for thieves trying to snatch it. And since spells aren’t sentient to discern who is and isn’t a miscreant, those thieves would be, y’know, us.”

“Yes, there is truth to what you say. But that is why I shall be taking charge of this expedition! Though there are no records of what kind of protection was placed upon the chalice, I have a wide variety of spells at the ready to release many a binding cast!”

“Constance dabbles in all kinds of magic,” Yuri informs. “And she’ll pretty much keep going until she figures out any arcane puzzle that comes her way. We’ll be fine.”

With a laugh, Girl Lorenz agrees with his assessment. “So, it is unanimous then? Splendid! I suggest we first procure some supplies before our venture.”

And so they head over to Burrow Street. Claude still has doubts that there’s actually a chalice, but this enemy they’re facing must be convinced it exists for them to spend so many resources trying to tear down Abyss until they find it. If that’s what they’re really after. And if so… who exactly would they want to bring back to life? Or will they just sell the artifact to whoever’s coin purse is the fattest?

Those questions and more riddle his brain as his excitement grows while he helps the others gather supplies from the marketplace. Food and water, along with some handy medical aid equipment like bandages and tonics. He buys himself extra arrows just in case, not wanting his quiver to nearly run out like last time. Other miscellaneous things like candles or a torch for light, since Constance, Hapi, and Linhardt can use fire magic. He thinks Byleth can too since she’s been helping his more magically-inclined classmates with their spells, although he’s not entirely sure about that.

Once they have everything they need, they follow close together behind Constance. Down a staircase underneath Chrysalis Row, over a bridge of murky looking water he really hopes is only just dirty with soil, and then through a crack in the wall from where bricks had been yanked out, left to lie on the wayside. It’s big enough for all of them to fit through comfortably, even Balthus.

Yuri holds out a torch light for Constance as she reads a map she made the other day of her partial excursion into this secret tunnel. Most of the wall is dirt, although after the first few feet, cut stone and mortar begins to carve a neat—if not musty—series of walkways over more underground reservoirs of water. (That’s when Claude starts to mark their path with a piece of white chalk along the walls.) Old, simple metal sconces are lacking the torches they’d usually nestle, so he can only assume no one has been here in a very, very long time. A few of the entryways have gates to them, some open and some closed. Rusty levers lay off to the side with cobwebs stretching to the base of the machinations.

Claude isn’t sure how long they’ve been traveling. Some of his companions have already started munching on their food stores, idly chatting about whatever random thing pops into their heads. Linhardt sighs loudly then.

“How much farther do we need to keep walking?” he whines. “Something tells me we are, in fact, lost. We’ve been down here for _days_. Possibly a full week, even.”

Giving him a look, Hapi says, “Don’t exaggerate. It’s been a couple of hours at most.”

“That’s still _way_ too long if you ask me.” He sits down against the wall. “I need a break. Just a few minutes, okay?”

“I have extra snacks if you need them,” offers Ashe.

“No, no I don’t need food right now. I need a nap….”

“Hmm,” Hilda clicks her tongue, sitting down next to him, “yeah, I kinda want one too, now that you mention it.”

“Constance,” Edelgard looks to her after she glances at Linhardt, “are you sure you know where you’re going? If we continue aimlessly like this, we might run out of our edible supplies.”

“As excited as I am about being on this little treasure hunt,” Claude starts, “I gotta agree. We might think about heading back the way we came, and regrouping when we’ve got more time, and more supplies. Like over the weekend.”

“No, I am absolutely positive this is the way I had trekked before!” she defends. Her furrowed brow as she stares holes into the map doesn’t instill confidence. “I am… I know—it is what I wrote down!”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Yuri soothes. “I know Abyss better than anyone currently here, and if this path doesn’t look familiar, that might be because it’s not. For whatever reason, a few of the tunnels shift on their own, is what some people have said. Maybe by magic, maybe by something else. Not closer up to where we live, but further down here. Not every curious person who came through the lower tunnels made it back. Ever. But those who did noticed differences from where they originally started. Like the number of sconces on the walls, or barred windows showing an underground river. Sometimes even up above the marketplace, but too high for their shouts to reach anyone down there.”

_Well, so much for my chalk trail._

Yuri shifts the torch to his other hand, looking over to the map. “To spin a positive on this, I’m sure it’s on purpose to protect the chalice—which I’m starting to think really does exist. Must mean we’re getting closer. Hopefully.”

Constance scoffs, looking affronted. “Yuri! And you did not think to tell me of such a peculiar function beforehand? I would have tested out the pathways then before bringing everyone down here!”

Dimitri glances up at the ceilings. They’re not endless like on the higher levels of Abyss, but they’re still pretty distant. Just how far underground are they now?

“If you do not mind me saying so,” he begins, “you seem quite fixated on this chalice, Constance. I’m rather curious as to why. Care to explain?”

She smooths out the crinkles along the edge of her map. “Oh I—no, why ever would you think I’d be fixated on such a silly little legend? It’s as if you think I might have an ulterior motive!” she ends with a weak, nervous laugh.

Yuri shakes his head. “You want the esteem. Admit it. Should you find the chalice and present it to the church, then it’ll convince them to restore your lost house.”

Constance gasps dramatically, although Claude is sure it’s entirely natural for her level of theatrics. “How could you possibly know that?! Have you been snooping within the confines of my very mind?!”

He laughs, and mocking her tone of voice, responds, “‘I shall restore House Nuvelle to its former glory at all costs!’ Ha! It’s practically your catchphrase at this point.”

Edelgard stares at the girl with large eyes, as if realization just dawned on her. Linhardt snaps his fingers from where he’s still sitting on the floor. “Aha! Just as I suspected! Constance is the former lady of House Nuvelle.”

Byleth looks to all of them, having been the quietest the whole journey thus far. “What is House Nuvelle?”

Constance gives her a sharp look, but Linhardt saves Byleth from being scolded about a history that Claude really can’t blame her for not knowing. Since, well, he himself didn’t even know of this House Nuvelle before now.

“Until just a few years ago,” he starts, “it was a house of viscounts in the western Empire. They had a long and distinguished history.”

“It lost its status five years ago,” Edelgard adds, “as a result of their part in the war,” but doesn’t offer any more than that.

“The…,” Byleth glances down to the floor for a second, tapping her chin with a finger, “Dagdan and Brigid war, right? That’s the only war I know of that happened in the Empire recently.”

“Yes, that one.”

Looking to Edelgard, Constance’s brow furrows, and her pink painted lips are in a thin line. Almost glaring at the princess. “Huh. You… speak as though this has nothing to do with you. Did not even mention the punishment the Empire placed upon my house.”

And as the princess opens her mouth, Constance adds, “That the fall of House Nuvelle is so _shameful_ apparently, that it is not even widely known we had existed at all outside of those who lived in our territory or shared our status. ‘A blemish upon Adrestian history’, as I was told when informed I was the sole survivor. The Barony of Ochs—our nearest aristocratic neighbor, also failed to defend itself, yet it still stands today.”

Their little group goes silent as Constance continues. “And no matter what I did—how I pleaded to understand why I had to carry this burden alone, I was quickly turned away. I was not even allowed to mourn the death of my brave parents and other relatives before everything was stripped from me. My status, my lands, my people, my wealth—everything was taken, or what remained of it anyway. Redistributed elsewhere within the Empire.”

Huffing out a silent breath, she adds, “I eventually came to the conclusion that—because I was the only Nuvelle remaining, and still but a young girl, it was as simple as a flick of a wrist to cast me away like rubbish instead of aiding me for something that was not my fault. I remember the day when we were accosted by surprise. Such clear sunny skies….”

The map in her hands threatens to tear as she grips the edges tight. Constance bites her lip, glowering at the floor. “I was left with nothing. I was even surprised I was still allowed to attend the Fhirdiad Royal School of Sorcery the following year. Though I suppose it had already been paid for, and perhaps the goddess sympathized with my plight. But after I graduated, I had no home to return to. Wandering until I exhausted all the meager resources I had left. Then, Aelfric found me some months later. Had been searching for me for a while, feeling sympathetic to my situation. And while he did not have the power to restore my standing within the Empire, he did give me sanctuary here, at Garreg Mach Monastery. But they did not take me into the Officers Academy for whatever reason—perhaps because I held no allegiance to any nation. I lived in Abyss meanwhile doing magical research, until he somehow managed to officially enroll me as a student. Even if I had to do it down here in the secret fourth house.”

Their little group had gone silent as Constance told her life story. Edelgard is the first to say something. “I fear all I can do is ask for forgiveness in place of my useless father. If doing so will comfort you in any way, then please accept my—”

Constance gives a single, bitter laugh. “Your Highness, I understand the sentiment, but your words simultaneously mean nothing as it currently stands. It is much too late for apologies. So please, save your breath; it is unnecessary. There is only one thing I desire now.”

Slowly the smile appears back on her face. “For the sake of my parents… who fell so courageously and selflessly in defense of the Empire… for them, I shall restore House Nuvelle, and return it to its former glory! All that I do is in pursuit of this dream, one that I _will_ accomplish by my own merits! Prove that I am worthy to reclaim that which has been taken from me!”

“And in reward for all that hard work so far,” Hapi starts, “you were forced to live underground. Life’s cruel. It’s like you took a shortcut back to the starting line. Or maybe you’re just unlucky.”

“Wh—how—Hapi, what are you saying?! This part I—never did I—this side of me, I never intended to share with… with you or anyone else for that matter…. But now that you have heard of it—”

She starts to go off on a tangent about why the chalice is so important, making up potential ways the church can help her once she presents it to them. Then Edelgard says she highly doubts they’d return the favor, which only seems to frustrate Constance, until Ashe tries to break them up and Dimitri gives his sincerest wishes that Constance achieves her dream.

Claude shakes his head at the scene once Hilda starts complaining about them making too much noise. “Yeesh, we better find that chalice then, huh Teach? I’m even starting to feel a little teary-eyed for Miss Prim and Proper here.” When she doesn’t respond, he looks behind him and notices she’s not there. She had been at the rear of their group to keep watch.

And now she’s just… gone.

“Hey, you guys, uh,” he says to everyone, waving his hand their way, “where the heck is Teach?” Everyone falls silent, looking around. “She was just here.”

“Maybe a ghost took her,” Hapi offers. Unhelpfully.

“_Ghost_?” Linhardt and Ashe say simultaneously, the former immediately standing up.

Shaking his head, the sleepy mage slowly starts to back away toward Edelgard. Behind her, actually. “There’s no—oh, we should’ve considered ghosts, ghouls, specters and—,” he covers his head with his arms, “of all the things to find in the damp dark tunnels here…”

“N-No,” Ashe shifts a little closer to Dimitri, “there’s no… n-no ghosts here, right? That’s not true….”

“You two are afraid of ghosts, really?” asks Hapi. “They’re not real.”

“Yes they are!” both of them shout.

Rolling his eyes, Yuri says, “It’s probably just the shifting tunnels. Byleth must’ve been caught in the path without knowing. Does she usually wander when someone’s talking anyway? Kinda rude.”

“Okay but why are you saying that like it’s no big _deal_?” Hilda starts. “We need to find the professor! If we can’t control how these tunnels just move around, then it might be hours until she appears again!” She pouts, crossing her arms. “Although, that would mean no homework for a while longer…”

“Hilda, _no_,” Claude says. “Teach has now become our priority; we gotta find her. Sorry, Constance, but we’ll have to continue our stroll through these murky depths after we get our instructor back.”

He doesn’t wait to hear her dramatic apology or the polite, passive-aggressive comments Edelgard snipes at her for whatever reason. Or the muttered fearful complaining from Ashe and Linhardt over banshees and wraiths. Hapi doesn’t make the situation better either, teasing them in that blunt morbid way of hers with Balthus loudly shouting around—as if Byleth can hear him.

Claude walks a few paces back to see where it is she might’ve gotten lost. The chalk is still on the walls until he gets to a sconce that hadn’t been there before. About six feet of the wall is missing the white line. Carefully, he pats his hands over the stone as he goes along the new wall, looking to see if there’s a loose stone or something that might’ve triggered the shift.

And then he’s shouting as he falls through the floor, hearing only a vague exclamation of worry from Dimitri in the distance.

He tumbles to the new ground that’s more dirt than stone, but it doesn’t do much to prevent pain from surging through him. The only saving grace was his quiver sort of cushioning his fall so he doesn’t crack open his head upon impact.

“Guess it could’ve been worse,” he wheezes, sitting up. There’s the faint sound of stone sluggishly scraping against earth somewhere up above. The tunnels must be alternating again. He can’t really see down here—can’t see at all, actually. Only feel his way around. Why didn’t he at least bring a kindling stone to spark a fire for his torch? There’s no way to get back up the way he came, he’s sure. And with no light source, well…

“More aimless wandering it is, then.”

He moves forward since going the other way only makes him bump into a wall. One he feels around for any kind of trigger, but nothing. Just earns himself a bunch of dirt between his nails and fingers. The forward direction doesn’t have him crash into anything, thankfully. And after a few more minutes of being touchy-feely with the old stone, he starts to see a light come closer.

Though he stays where he is. Chances are it could be one of the mystery assailants looking for the chalice, but there’s also a chance that it’s likely—

“Teach!” And there she is, a small bud of fire magic in her palm as she hurries toward him. She’s a little dirty, but otherwise unharmed.

“Claude, how’d you—did you also fall here?”

“Yeah. I noticed you weren’t around, so I came looking for you. Don’t wander off like that next time.”

“Sorry. I was just checking out the chalk trail you drew because I noticed it kept disappearing. And then the tunnel shifted downward all of a sudden. But then I heard a noise this way, and so…”

“Really? For me I just passed over one of the stones on the floor and it opened up a trap door.”

Byleth frowns, giving a thoughtful hum. “We need to get back to the others, and soon. Although I have no idea on how to actually do that.”

“Well, the way I came from is just a dead end, so I guess we’ll have to keep going forward.”

They’re careful in their walk. Byleth makes the fire bigger so they can see more of what’s ahead of them after Claude joked about watching out for a pit filled with sharp pointed sticks. They don’t find any of those, thankfully. Actually, they don’t find much of anything at all. No matter how far they walk, or how many corners they keep turning.

_When I said before I wanted time alone with her, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. We’ll die down here if we can’t get out. Pretty pathetic way to go, honestly._

“How long do you think it’ll be until we find the next shift of tunnels?” she asks him.

“Man, you’ve got me. I don’t even know how these work.” He moves ahead of her, seeing a sconce with an unlit torch. Underneath it, about where he is, is part of his chalk trail. “Hey Teach, look here! This is from the tunnel up above. I’m sure there must be a trigger down h—”

And then he’s falling _again_ through the ground. Well, sliding. The stones condense into a slope and he’s skidding along them with Byleth calling after him. Claude lands in an even narrower pathway—no, another dead end. Although this time, the wall opposite of him has a small half-arched window with metal bars, about half his height from the top, and running the length of two-thirds of the wall. There’s an underground river he can spot from where he’s at, and there’s also the sound of a nearby waterfall.

The fact that he can even see at all has to be a good sign. Looks like daylight reflecting off of the water and bouncing around the walls. Still dim, but not too bad. Although he doesn’t have anything to cut through these bars. Plus, that waterfall… well he doesn’t know how high up it even is from the ground on the other end. And can’t really get a good angle to view the opening to the outside environment.

Something skids down the slope from before and Byleth crashes into him, toppling him over. As they scramble to get up, the slope disappears, going vertical and condensing the dead end into little more than an average human-sized box.

“Well, we have light now,” he comments, “but at what cost?”

Byleth mumbles an apology, adding, “The slope was starting to shift, and I didn’t want to lose sight of you. At least if we’re stuck, then it’s together.”

“Aww Teach, as sweet as that is, we’re still in a bind here. Now we _really_ have nowhere to go. For all we know, this could’ve been a very torturous dungeon cell from ye ole days.”

“Hmm, maybe. I can’t even turn around.”

It’s that little note that makes him realize the precarious position he’s in. Or she’s in—_they’re_ in. He’s nudged against the solid wall, and he’d have slightly more space were it not for the quiver behind him. Byleth’s back is to the window with her front pressed against his. Her forearms rest on his chest, and he hopes she can’t feel his heartbeat in her palm. Because being squished together like this, he can definitely feel her_ very_ ample and _very_ soft—oh geez, that’s a lot of… yeah, smushed between them. _Wow_.

_No, no. Nope. I can… ignore it. Just… think of other things. Lorenz naked. Oh gods no, I really don’t want that image either. Maybe a new person of ridicule. Sylvain, probably, although even I have to admit he’s got nice—_

“Claude?”

“Y-Yeah?” and he wants to punch himself for the involuntary higher pitch of voice. “What’s up, Teach?”

“I was asking if you think I should try to cut through the bars with the Relic.”

“Uh, well you can’t really turn around though.”

“I can try. There’s more space around the legs for me to move.” She carefully starts to drag her body downward, hands draping over his front, and he can feel her br—he wants to scream. Scream very loudly and—oh no fuck shit she’s lower—

“NO, Teach!” She stops then, and he quickly says, “Ah, well just uh, don’t do that. Because it won’t work. Trust me you’ll just be uncomfortable and won’t even have room to swing the sword or even take it out. You also might accidentally nick me with the blade.”

An embarrassing sound is trapped in his throat when she slides back up (_slowly_, too). He clenches his eyes shut halfway through, not wanting to watch her rise up from the region of his abdomen because that is not a thing he should be thinking ab—

He sucks in a sharp breath when her knee brushes against his groin and gets trapped there, biting his lip so he doesn’t make a single sound. Byleth clicks her tongue, mumbling something about maybe she shouldn’t have tried because she feels even more restricted now.

“Claude, are you okay? Your face is red.”

“A-Ah, um, yeah everything’s peachy keen, Teach! But we really should try to figure…”

He holds his breath as her hand reaches up to him. “You’re bleeding here.” White magic hums in her palm, and she runs a thumb over the small cut along his lower lip. Tentatively, as she stares at her work as she does so. He’s frozen, swallowing hard, gripping the stone wall behind him with both hands on either side of his legs. Trying to not think about how nice it feels for her to—

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles again. “We got into this because of me. I should’ve just stayed with the others.”

“…Not your fault, Teach. These things happen.”

“But it’ll be sunset soon. And we’ll lose light.”

“Well, yeah, that’s… true.”

She pulls her hand away then tucks it between herself and him. He dares to glance down. She’s not looking at him. Off to the side instead, cheeks slightly pink. Or at least, he thinks they are. Unless that’s what he wants to see. No, no he doesn’t want that because… well because.

Teasing her is one thing to get a reaction. But this, right now? No, this isn’t… ideal. At least, not for him. For several reasons, reasons he doesn’t want to entertain now or ever.

But it’s challenging, loathe as he is to admit it. Her hair smells nice. Like tropical fruits, the kind he’d often get from the import market in Derdriu. He wonders if Hilda or one of the other girls gave her a shampoo scented like that. Byleth is so warm, and despite the hard muscles along her stomach and, well other places, she’s still plush and pliant being this close.

And a part of him wants to… no, no a part of him doesn’t…

_Claude—Khalid, focus. Think about being stabbed in the back. Over and over. Choking on the poison in your food. How it felt when you were kicked and punched again and again for talking back. Being slapped in the face for crying, the lingering throb from that acid burn on your thigh. Getting a scorpion down your shirt, how badly the pain seared into your lower back when it stung you. How when that servant in the palace narrowly missed your neck with his blade, just giving you a small cut where…_

…whereas Byleth handles him with care, despite how hard she pushes him and everyone else with training. How neatly she folded that little towel over his forehead when he was ill. Kept her hand in his after she drifted off to sleep watching him. Keeping guard. Checking his ankle when he sprained it from falling off the tree, and how insistent she was to carry him back, because she didn’t want him to hurt himself further. To have more harm come to him. Like how she just… steps in front of him or shifts to his side whenever she thinks someone might…

_What is it that makes you… care, about me? When you could just be like all the rest? Is it because you’re my professor? Or… is that all you? Considering me your friend, when I don’t even…_

He thinks about the chat he had with her earlier in the day. Mercenaries being expendable. Her being like that. Maybe that’s why she treats him like he matters. Because the world around her told her she didn’t, in some shape or form. Was disposable once her blade dulled. Maybe, despite lacking emotions for a long time, maybe it still wormed its way into her psyche on some level. One she doesn’t recognize. Manifests as treating others like they’re something worth saving, so they don’t feel like it’s simple to just toss them away like an old shoe if things get inconvenient or difficult.

“That’s not you, Teach.”

Byleth looks up at him, and he’s able to meet her eyes this time. “What’s… not me?”

“From earlier, when you told me how people viewed mercenaries. That’s not you. From a certain perspective, I can see why others would think that way. But it doesn’t make it true. A life is still a life, and shouldn’t be weighed less because of profession or… other things. It’s like you told me before. Against our enemies, we’re still taking a life, and that shouldn’t be done lightly. No matter how rotten the person is.”

He sighs. “I don’t know if I’m making sense to you, but, you opened my eyes a bit more with the arena fight. Whoever is just tossing mercs down here, like they’re as replaceable as a pair of shoes, or to endanger Abyssians who already had it tough up on the surface… well whoever they are, I hope we find them soon. They’re overdue for a painful life lesson.”

“I agree,” she replies. “And… thanks for saying what you did earlier. That I’m not expendable. I didn’t really have an opinion on it one way or another, but it’s still… nice to hear, I guess.”

“I only speak the truth. Why else do you think I came to find you? We can’t lose our dear professor. No other instructor can take your place, no matter how many substitutes the church tries to find. You’re the only Teach around, and it should stay that way. _Will_ stay that way, so long as you have the class, and me.”

Byleth curls her fingers against the fabric of his tunic. He observes the joints as they move, fingernails caught in the threads, skin straining against bone and tendon.

“Thank you, Claude.”

She watches him, eyes following his, no matter how much he tries to avoid her face. So close and open. Almost curious.

And then they’re jerked to the side, the supposed dead end swinging open. The two of them plummet down a cliffside and into a small pond, deep enough to break their fall from the otherwise hard ground.

Claude breaches the surface at the same time Byleth does. The waterfall from before stands a few meters above them. They probably could have just cut through the metal bars and rode the river.

But, well… he did get some quality time with her like he wanted. Even if it was… like that. _Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess._

Hair from her bangs is in her eyes and he laughs as she tries to move it away from her face. “Patience is a virtue, huh Teach? We finally got out of that torture chamber!”

“I suppose we did.” She looks up to the open sky. The sun is low, but not low enough on the horizon to bring the purple and pinks of the early evening.

The two of them swim to the edge of the pond, and that’s when they see the others running toward them. Dimitri helps Claude out of the water, with Yuri going to Byleth—despite her not needing it because she’s strong enough on her own to just hop out. She’s not helpless.

“Thank goodness you two are alright!” the prince says. “Or at least I hope you are! We were beside ourselves not knowing where to begin in looking for you!”

“Lucky for all of us here,” Claude starts, wringing out water from his tunic, “Teach and I are as resilient as cacti. We won’t be done in by a couple of long shifting rocks.”

“It was still chance that we managed to get out,” she notes, twisting her ponytail and watching the water fall out of it. “How did all of you get here?”

“Found the exit not even a couple of minutes before we heard you two splash over here!” Balthus said. “Some big old staircase carved into the rocks made it a lot easier than the tumble you two took.”

“Where even are we?” asks Hilda, looking around.

Ashe points upward. “Is that… the cathedral? And the bridge?”

Squinting, yeah, yeah it really is._ Pretty_ high up though from where they currently are. They’re more like silhouettes from this distance. He doubts anyone would even notice them down here.

“Dang,” Claude whistles, “we’re at the base of the mountain. I see that bridge every day, but I didn’t think I’d get this new angle. And I mean, from where I’m standing, this does indeed look like a chasm. Gotta hand it to you Con—hey, where’s Constance?”

From behind Balthus, she slowly creeps around to face them. Shadows from her bangs shade her eyes. She’s also got a pretty long face.

“My deepest, humblest apologies, everyone,” she says softly. No hoity-toity tone or aghast gesture of a hand to her chest. Just hunched shoulders and twiddling thumbs. “Because of my ineptitude to consider all possible risks, I have wasted precious hours of our day. Put everyone in needless danger. Presumed too much to stand beside such noble paragons. Please, allow me to dig a hole to lay myself in….”

“Constance,” Byleth goes up to her, “are you alright? What’s wrong?”

Balthus gives a deep sigh, looking sympathetic. “She gets like this out in daylight. All sad and self-demeaning. Poor Constance. We’ve tried to help before but, nothing seems to work….”

“That’s another reason why Coco’s in Abyss,” Hapi says. “She can’t be out at the same time as the sun, otherwise her mood takes a nosedive.”

Looking around, Constance says, “I fear that I cannot definitely say this is indeed the Chasm of the Bound. Instead, I might have just gotten all of us wayward into the unknown. A considerable travel all for naught….”

“Enough with the self-doubt yeah?” Balthus tries gently. “Just put one foot in front of the other. We’ll have you back in the shadows before you know it.”

“Cheer up, Coco,” Hapi says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We need you.”

“Oh…,” she curls into herself even more, “and now I fear I have forced you into a state of pity toward me. Do not waste your sentiments on someone as worthless as I, when there are others more deserving….”

“I’ve never seen anything quite like this before,” Dimitri admits. “Is there nothing we can do to help her?”

Balthus huffs. “Afraid not. Hapi, keep Constance moving. If we don’t start searching, we’ll never find that damn chalice.”

Hapi starts to move her hands, but then rests them back at her sides. “Guess I’ll just… push her along then,” she says, gently nudging Constance forward from behind.

Shaking her head, she tells her, “I must ask you to cease. You shall soil your hands upon my filthy back. No soap could possibly—huh?”

And then she takes a few steps forward on her own, continuing to look not at all chipper. “I… sense a magical presence nearby. A very powerful one. The binding spell, perhaps.”

Linhardt stands next to her, making a comment he doesn’t feel anything. “But… I _do_ hear something. Something moving. Big? And it’s getting louder.”

“Perhaps there is an object of sorts protecting the chalice,” offers Edelgard. “If that is the case, then we… should…”

Words die in her throat, and everyone stares bewildered as a very massive… _thing_ glides over the earth. Creaking and whirling, its form growing larger and larger the closer it gets to them. Like a metal doll in an armored dress of some kind. But just _extremely_ huge, taller than the trees. Its head spins around every several feet.

“Yikes!” Claude steps back a bit. “What is that thing? It’s like some kind of gigantic toy!”

Taking out his sword, Yuri says beside him, “I don’t have the slightest idea of what’s going on, but this is already looking like it won’t bode well for us.”

“I dunno,” Balthus shrugs, “could be fun. Been a while since I’ve had an opponent that could put up a good fight.”

“Baltie!” Hilda scolds, pointing sharply at the contraption as she glares at him. “That doesn’t look like we’ll be having any kind of fun at all! Look how huge it is!”

“_INTRUDERS HAVE STEPPED FORTH UPON FORBIDDEN GROUND_,” comes the distorted voice from the doll. “_LEAVE AT ONCE, OR RISK ANNIHILATION._” 

“Yeah…,” Yuri sucks in a breath, “I’m pretty sure we’re in the Chasm of the Bound.”

“We’ve come all this way for the chalice,” Balthus fits his hands into his pair of Relic gauntlets, “and damn it if we’re not gonna leave with the thing after all the trouble we’ve gone through. At the very least, we gotta do it for Constance.”

“No,” she shakes her head again, “please do not risk your life for my sake. Allow me to offer myself up as sacrifice while your preserve your own lives to—”

A low buzzing piercing to a high shrill noise is all they hear before the doll pulls a spear of light out of its chest, and tosses it just over them. It sears the ground far away, cutting through trees as it scrapes against the dirt and stone. The trees turn to ash with absolutely nothing left except the memory of them existing there at all in the very spot that’s now seared a cindered gray.

Everyone stares at the desolation with mouths agape, except for Byleth who’s eyes are only widened the biggest Claude has ever seen from her at this point.

“_YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO IGNORE THE WARNING. ANNIHILATION SEQUENCE ENGAGED_.”

Two more dolls sprout from the ground in the far distance, their heads spinning and mechanical arms twirling as they glide toward them.

Hapi’s measly whine from the back of her throat is a perfect summation for how they’re all feeling right about now.

“Oh, this is gonna _suck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hapi, you have no idea exactly _how_ much it's going to suck.
> 
> Did you folks like that Claudeleth, at least? It's another cliche but this fic is primarily self-indulgent so fuck it I'm gonna indulge. Normally I don't care for cliches but if it's about my OTPs then I've suddenly changed my mind. 😂 Okay, look, in my defense, I could've _sworn_ Yuri said somewhere in the DLC that the tunnels shift. But I can't find it now. Did I dream about it? I don't know anymore. LMFAO <strike>Also, I can't resist torturing Claude in this manner, oops</strike>.
> 
> Here's where I delve into Byleth's character again. The arena battle had me thinking how some people (mainly the wealthy) might find mercenaries and other hires like that as... expendable living tools. Since they don't have the same social ties as the average person or the aristocracy. Though realistically, like real-life mercenaries, I'm sure that's not necessarily the case, but I don't know enough about it to claim it as true or false. Here, however, I just aimed to match the overall darker tone of this worldbuilding. So, I kinda wanted to touch up more on that.
> 
> Next chapter our little group is gonna have A Real Bad Time™. How bad? Well, I gave you this shippy fluff beforehand for a reason. :)
> 
> On a more positive note, this fic has reached over 1,000 comments! Wow what a milestone! Thanks so much! 💖 I mean, I know about half of these are my replies, but, it's still a big number! Please keep sharing your thoughts with me if you feel inclined. I love reading every single one, even if they're just emojis!
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	40. XL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> The cast learns about an ancient artifact called the Chalice of Beginnings. Said to have the power to resurrect the dead, and was only used once by Saint Seiros with help from the Four Apostles. The chalice was sealed away in a place called Chasm of the Bound, and Constance surmises it's a location close to Abyss. Venturing through a series of tunnels she uncovered, they learn her backstory as a former Empire noble. Finding the chalice is partially motivated by esteem so she may be a step closer to restoring the fallen House Nuvelle. Unfortunately, Byleth gets lost in the shifting tunnels, and Claude does too in an attempt to find her. They get stuck in a small space, which makes him hyper aware of the contact between the fronts of their bodies. It severely flusters him, but he's able to get through it after a heart-to-heart about a conversation he had with Byleth earlier in the day concerning her mercenary life. Eventually everyone meets up again outside, but finds trouble in the form of a giant metal doll that can incinerate objects with spears of light.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XL ⧽  
  
Chasm of the Bound

Byleth has never seen anything like it before. A gargantuan metal doll. One that can create spears of light seemingly out of thin air. A kind of spear that completely incinerates anything that comes across it.

So, naturally, when she sees three of them, her first instinct is to shout, “Run!”

And they do. The creatures—golems, she’ll call them—move a little slow. (The term just… popped up in her head, strangely enough.) But with no indication exactly as to where the chalice is, her group will most likely be running around in circles. Plus, there’s no telling how well her Relic will hold up to such threats. And even with Yuri’s and Balthus’s Relics on their side, just by the sheer size of these things, it won’t end well for them. Additionally, neither Hapi nor Constance have their steeds this time. They’ll all have to—

“Professor!” Linhardt shouts, actually managing to run up to her. Byleth yells at them all to dodge left as another spear is thrown their way. Ashe and Hilda stumble but quickly scramble to their feet just before the light cuts through the ground where they once stood.

“What?”

“There has to be a way to deactivate these guardians! If we can find some sort of trigger, it might give us free roam to look for the chalice. We’re absolutely close. I’m sure of it now!”

It’s very likely the artifact is around here, but without more people on their side, she doesn’t see how it’ll be possible to search for it safely in these conditions. Unless the key is defeating these things, but…

_Are you mad? They are not like the beast Miklan had transformed into! These are enchanted, made of metal. Whereas he was mindless in that state, these are keen on your presences and will not stop until you are all killed! It would not be wise to risk your lives over something like this! Turn back to regroup and form an adequate strategy._

_I don’t think we can. If these things do in fact work like that, they might just follow us._

Byleth and the others dive into a cluster of trees, avoiding yet another spear. But the guardians apparently missed them or something since they’re just roaming around now.

“They must attack based on sight,” Yuri suggests. “I don’t think they can see us in the patches of forest.”

“We can use these as cover then,” says Edelgard. “Maneuver ourselves to… well, we don’t even know where exactly the chalice is, do we? Just that we have indeed stumbled upon the Chasm of the Bound.”

“If I may,” Constance points out, seemingly a little better and not so sullen. She’s not frowning as deeply, at least. So, shade also counts as being shielded from the sunlight with her, “we ought to give those statues some scrutiny.”

Where they’re currently hiding is at the edge of a cliff. The lower level is open enough that Byleth sees what she’s talking about. There are three pillars evenly spaced at the farthest end against the mountainside. One to the left, one in the center, and one to the right. There’s a large empty square space on each one. On all three of their bases, an arcane circle gently pulsates a violet glow within the stone.

“It looks like a keyhole,” Claude surmises. “And where there’s a keyhole, there has to be a key. My bet is one of these giant dolls has it.”

Byleth assumes further that the golem with a helmet is most likely carrying it. Its armor is almost entirely gilded compared to the other two dolls with their plain metal faces and bodies. Plus, more plating covers the gold one. If they destroy it, does that mean it’ll drop a key as a spoil?

“How would we even begin to dismantle them?” asks Dimitri. “They’re so large, I doubt we could do much of anything. I would suggest we try, but those spears are concerning. If we get caught in one…”

“We’ll be a pile of ashes,” Hapi ends.

Edelgard frowns. “Can you call on the monsters again? Maybe use them as a distraction?”

“No,” she replies, grimacing. “It’s not exactly a power I like having. And should I die, what’ll you guys do? Lather yourselves with herbs and sauces and offer yourselves up as a free meal to the beasts?”

“I’ll give it a shot if no one else is willing,” Balthus says, already walking toward the edge of their hideaway. “Just standing around ain’t gonna help us much. We either die here or we don’t, and I’m picking the second.”

“Wait, Balthus.” Byleth tugs him back by the arm. “You can’t just go out there. We need to get those dolls away from each other. I have a feeling the golem with the helmet might have the key. The other two look less protected. Probably distractions so that main one can take out hordes of enemies without getting hurt itself.”

“You’re saying we should focus on the smaller ones?”

“No, I’m saying we split them up. Draw their attention away. Have two groups each go after one of the silver golems.”

“And what about the gold one?” asks Ashe.

“I’ll handle it. My Relic has the longest reach, so I’ll take it on by myself.”

Claude looks like he wants to retort, so Byleth quickly adds, “There isn’t much forest down there in the chasm. We’ll have to draw out a mental path here first. And with no horses or flying mounts, we’ll have to just—”

“Keep running?” asks Hilda, almost in a whine.

“If we want to live, yes.”

When no other ideas are offered, Byleth splits them into two teams. Yuri, Constance, Ashe, and Edelgard will be one team. Balthus, Hapi, Hilda, and Dimitri will be another. That leaves Claude in charge of protecting Linhardt, the only one capable of healing their injuries from afar. She stresses it’s crucial they remain hidden most of all and the furthest away from the strife.

_Would it not be more efficient to have each of them split into the two groups?_

_I get what you’re saying, but Linhardt is our only lifeline from far away. Balthus and Yuri won’t be able to focus on healing when they’re trying to attack the golems. I’d rather they focus on offense instead of aid._

_And what of Claude? Is he paired with him solely for protection? Or is there a hidden meaning to wanting him out of harm’s way as well?_

_No, there isn’t. Linhardt just needs someone to watch his back while I take on the gilded doll._

She ignores Sothis’s further ramblings and dispatches everyone to their assigned target. Reminds them that their task is to distract, not directly engage or try to take down the golems if they can avoid it. Yuri’s group goes right, and Balthus’s goes left. The dolls immediately glide toward them as Byleth whips the Sword of the Creator at the chest of her own enemy. It locks in on her, manifesting another spear of light.

Down the cliff she slides as the spear goes over her head. As she controls her descent with the sword plunged into the earthen wall, she can see that the other two golems aren’t exactly accurate in their assaults either. Could it be that their attacks are more for large groups instead of minuscule ones like theirs?

As she lands, she sees something glint between the pieces of the golem’s armor underneath its chest plate. A large rod of some kind with a handle—no, with ridges like…

_A key._

So there _is_ a way to deactivate it. But how would she even get there in the first place? She’d have to pierce through its armor, little by little. There has to be—oh, there’s a symbol even higher along its chest. Something that looks like an engraving of the Crest of Seiros.

Does this mean the church is capable of making things like this? These… machines? Do they have more? Or are they used sparingly? And how would they even be able to enchant something like this to life? Or was it Saint Seiros who created these creatures all those centuries ago?

_Enough! While this is certainly a trail of thought to be revisited later, focus on the task at hand! Something tells me, if you manage to strike it where the Crest symbol is, you will be able to destroy it._

_But it’s so high up. Would my sword even reach that far?_

_You have very little options other than to try._

So she does.

The strikes barely make a dent, but at least the focus is on her. She rolls out of the way whenever the golem tries to slash at her with the spear, although she almost gets caught by its edge in one instance. So close she can feel the immense searing heat from it, as if the beams of the sun were plucked out of the sky and turned into javelins.

But while she manages to avoid them, the forest patches around her do not.

The lances just happen to cut through many of them, not even burning the whole thing like a fire would. But neatly slicing through them, as if it simply wiped away the greenery like a smudge on a tiled floor. If this keeps up, there won’t be anywhere to hide.

Byleth whips her sword upward again, slicing through one of the machine’s arms. It makes an artificial shrieking sound, like steam peeking through a lidded pot. The next lance the golem takes out isn’t tossed, but instead dragged on the floor with its other arm, trying to follow her path where she runs.

Somewhat sentient; they can learn from mistakes. That’s not good, and she hopes the others haven’t agitated their golems enough to make them smarter than they were initially.

There’s a loud heaving of metal before a resounding _thud_ follows it. One of the dolls has fallen, and she hears Balthus’s loud victorious shout somewhere behind her. A second crash happens along one of the forest clusters, and she can only assume Yuri’s group managed to defeat their own.

It’s a distraction for the gilded golem as it turns its head in its socket to look at the aftermath. As soon as it starts to move, Byleth whips her sword to its back, the point digging deep into the metal. She holds on tight as the Relic reels forward, pulling her into the air for a decent amount of momentum to swing upon its shoulder. The head rotates to look at her, its arm already coming up to smack her out of the way.

She lunges forward and down, whipping the sword to its opposite shoulder and swings around its other side that’s missing one arm. In trying to swipe at her, the lance of light impales the golem through the chest, making the creature freeze where it stands. Then its head jerks and clicks as it begins to fall backward.

Byleth waits until it’s low enough before leaping off of it, not wanting to be caught by the impact. And unceremoniously lands in Yuri’s arms, who apparently decided to break her fall. They tumble to the ground and she apologizes, asking if he’s alright.

“Oh I’m perfectly fine,” he says. “Although if you could get off my stomach, that’d be appreciated.”

“Ah, of course.” She scrambles off of him and helps him up. They’re both a little dirty from the fall. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Couldn’t help it. Saw your precarious position on its shoulder and decided I ought to assist, now that our own golem was out of the way. Pretty creative strategy you had there.”

“It was taking forever to carve through the metal, and I just guessed if it could be damaged some other way, then I had to keep my options open.”

“And I respect that.”

The others run to them. Also dirty, but otherwise don’t have any severe injuries. Balthus gives a hearty laugh. “You really took down that thing all on your own, Byleth? I gotta spar with you sometime.”

“Nice catch,” Hapi says to Yuri. “She would’ve splat on the ground otherwise.”

“I’m sure Teach would’ve been fine,” Claude replies. “She’s not some damsel in distress.”

Yuri smirks. “And I never said she was. But I wanted to make sure she’d be alright coming down from there.”

“Well thank you Yuri for catching me,” Byleth says. “It helped regardless.”

“No problem. If you ever find yourself plummeting uncertainly, my arms will be there to cradle your fall.”

Claude brings up again that she’s a lot more innovative than Yuri is giving her credit for, which then prompts Balthus to tell him there’s no need to get defensive. Claude retorts he’s not, with Yuri saying he is, and then she decides to ignore the argument in favor of climbing over the golem to un-lodge the key.

It takes some prodding with the Sword of the Creator to break through the metal pieces around it. But eventually she manages to carve it out. The iron key is nearly five feet in length, almost as long as she is tall. It’s heavy too, with runes of some sort engraved onto every square inch of the object.

“Is that it?” asks Hilda when she climbs back down. “Oh wow, it’s a lot bigger than I imagined.”

“We’ll need to fit this in one of the statues. Someone strong has to carry it though.”

“Don’t look at me,” Linhardt says, holding up his hands. “While I’m intrigued by all these arcane symbols, I’d barely be able to make it three feet befo—”

And then Ashe screams his name in horrific surprise as a sword plunges itself through Linhardt’s chest from behind.

His eyes are wide as he slowly tilts his head down to look where the metal is protruding from him. Blood glints along its edge. Everyone else is frozen in their shock as the sword slices down another few inches before it’s pulled away. Blood pours from the wound as Linhardt places shaky hands over it, watching in numbed panic as his life’s essence seeps out between his fingers.

He looks at Byleth, a silent plea in those dark blue eyes reflecting paralyzed terror. His lip trembles as blood trickles from the corners of his mouth. “P… Profes…,” he tries to say, _Please help me_, as more of his crimson life slips past his lips. He falls to his knees, and doesn’t get to finish when he slumps onto the ground.

An assassin is behind him, cloaked in an unearthly white hue.

Byleth sucks in her own horrific shriek and immediately halts time.

How did it—they were all standing in a circle. Someone would have noticed the enemy sneaking up behind him. _She_ would’ve seen—

She can’t peel her attention away from Linhardt on the ground. Everyone else staring at him with large eyes as he bleeds out. Ashe was the first to reach down and help him, despite not being able to do anything. And she had tried so hard to keep Linhardt safe, away from the violence and immediate danger. Not just because he hates it, but because he’s too soft of a soul, despite the blunt way in which he expresses his honesty about everything.

It didn’t matter in the end. There’s no life in those eyes now. She’ll never forget that terrified look on his face, directed at her—he_ chose_ to look at her first over everyone else, silently begging for her to help him. To stop him from crossing over. But she couldn’t.

Another one of her students has died, and she doesn’t even know how.

That assassin materialized out of nowhere. But they don’t look like any human foe she’s seen so far. Almost like they’re made out of some kind of essence. White shadows, with the way they appeared before the colors inverted.

Byleth stares ahead, searching for any more. She sees them scattered here and there. Manifesting out of thin air, as if the shadows are being ripped out of the trees and rocks from the setting sun upon the ground.

Her gut’s telling her this chalice has multiple protection spells on it. It won’t matter how many enemies they defeat. One trap will be triggered after another until the key is placed. Maybe the golems were for large groups of invaders, while these individual warriors are for parties of their own size. Smaller, needing more precision in the offense.

These are all assumptions though. She can’t possibly know what other traps lie in wait. But she _can_ prevent the untimely death of one of her youngest students. He died needlessly because she was foolish enough to drop her guard, even for a second.

She turns back time to where she’s lifting the key up from the golem. Byleth jumps down and hands it to Hilda who complains about having to carry it, despite it looking as weightless as a basket in her arms.

Linhardt starts to talk and that’s when she sees it. White haze beginning to solidify into a human form. She yanks him away, much to his surprise, and slashes her sword against the cloud, immediately dissipating it. The other shadow soldiers manifest in random spots ahead of them.

“I didn’t even feel that thing’s presence,” Linhardt says, eyes wide. “You saved my life, Professor.”

_In this time, I did. But in that other one you were…_

“We need to get that key into one of the statues,” she says as everyone draws their weapons again. “Hilda, I’m leaving this task to you.”

“_What_? Oh, but it’s so far away over there!”

“Go to whichever one is closest to you. But we need to move immediately.”

Instead of splitting them up, she has them group into an arrow formation as they rush through the center of the open space. Trying to hide in the forest will be meaningless now if these enemies can just spawn wherever. And despite how many there are, they go down pretty quickly with just a single point of impact. But the damage they can deal themselves is real.

Balthus gets a cut along his side and Edelgard gets an arrow into her left forearm. Both of them ignore it, sending crushing blows to enemies at the apex of their formation. When they’re close enough, Byleth has Hilda run to the statue in the center as the rest of them try to fend off the shadowed figures.

She watches as she hoists the key into the hole and turns. There’s a loud sound of something akin to a tumbler being unlocked, and Hilda cheers.

Until another golem pops out of the ground in front of her. And the shadowed fighters still come after them, not even freezing in their assault. Everyone is too far away to stop the golem from rising only to half height before it uses its arm to swat at Hilda, smacking its hand directly over her. Even with her abnormal strength, she struggles in pushing it away as her knees buckle. The golem slams its other hand on the first, completely crushing Hilda. It causes a large pool of blood to seep out from underneath its weight, as if she were a bug squashed by a boot.

Byleth doesn’t wait for the machine to lift its palm before turning back time. She won’t be able to get the image out of her mind if she sees the pulp her student has become. Balthus and Claude screaming Hilda’s name in horror as she dies instantly is enough to haunt her for several months.

They try again with the statue on the right-hand side where they’re currently at. This time Byleth has Balthus go with Hilda as she fits the key into the second hole. But the soldiers only manifest in greater numbers around them and another golem pops up from underneath the trees.

She turns back time again. To see what would’ve become of the two in this attempt isn’t worth anything. The correct statue has to be the one on the left-hand side.

Just as a precaution, she still has them pair up so Hilda has protection as she runs. Balthus manages to punch his way through the enemies as she scurries to the last possible keyhole. Hilda jams it in and turns it with both arms just as Balthus is under threat of being overwhelmed by a large cluster of shadowed soldiers.

And then they evaporate once the loud sound of the tumbler echoes through the chasm. No golems pop out either.

Hilda slumps against the statue, sighing loudly as they approach. Balthus makes a comment about thinking that’d never end. Linhardt takes this break to heal everyone for injuries, even carefully extracting an arrow that this time Dimitri got in his non-dominant arm. The wound heals up well enough that there’s only faint scarring.

“Close call, but we did it,” Yuri says, managing a tired smile. “Our efforts paid off.”

_Divine Pulse did. If I didn’t have this power, both Linhardt and Hilda wouldn’t be standing here with the rest of us…._

“So um,” Ashe takes a look around the statue, “where is the chalice supposed to appear? Is it from this?”

Hapi wanders to investigate the mountainside behind the central statue. The others follow her as she says, “There’s stuff drawn on here. They kinda look like our—,” a loud rumbling shakes the earth and she jumps back, fleeing several feet away, “—whoa what is going—?!”

The wall crumbles to reveal a concave space with four symbols around it glowing in golden light. In the center of the four characters is an even deeper hole. Much smaller and tight enough that Byleth figures only a person’s arm would be able to fit in there.

“Look!” Claude says, walking closer. “There’s something in that opening!”

Constance approaches, treading faster despite her perpetually solemn mood. She runs her hands along the rock wall where the symbols glow. “These sigils are…”

“This is incredible,” Linhardt says, staring up at the wall. “I feel like I’ve seen these symbols before. Maybe during my research, but I’ll have to look through my notes to double-check.” From the satchel at his side, he takes out a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick. “I must record this,” he says, drawing the first one on the top left.

“Oh!” Constance climbs up the small pile of debris that acts as steps. “Can it be?” She reaches into the hole, tugs, but whatever she’s gripped onto doesn’t come out until she gives it a more forceful yank.

Walking back to them, she dusts off dirt from the object in her hand. When it’s clean enough, she sees it’s a chalice. The base is made of gold that tapers to the stem. Ivory white like… bone. Twisted elegantly with a golden knob pinching it at the center. It leads into the cup which has strange… web-like patterns onto it. Raised, and sparse apart. Not designed like a spider’s web, but something… even more organic. Familiar. Like marrow.

The Sword of the Creator hums lightly in Byleth’s hand, and she realizes the cup too is made of bone. Same hue as her Relic. The chalice looks more polished though with a metal band around the top, hugging a golden rim above it. There’s a small gem at the front of the cup, directly in the middle. It’s red, and shaped like an upside-down triangle. There’s some kind of symbol on it, but it’s too weathered by time for her to even guess at what it could be.

“Is that… it?” asks Balthus.

“You would know best. It is beyond my ken whether this is the Chalice of Beginnings. Curse my ignorance!”

“Constance, I’m just—,” he sighs deeply, “you know more about this than all of us. So is it, or isn’t it?”

“That quaking from moments ago…,” she starts, her fingers lightly dancing along the artifact, “some kind of containment magic was in place here. Whether intentionally or not, the chalice was released. I hesitate to suggest that those things were the cause.” She makes a weak hum, pressing her index finger onto the red gem idly. “Oh, perhaps one of… hmm…”

“What are you pondering about, Constance?” Edelgard asks.

“Nothing of import, Your Highness. My thoughts on any matter are inconsequential to the grander composition of life itself. You need not wonder upon opinions from a troglodyte such as myse—”

“Constance, please, _enough_. You don’t need to tell me if you really don’t want to. We just need to know if this is the artifact we’ve been searching for.”

She looks at the cup, holding it gingerly in both hands, as if cradling a baby before her. “Were I to venture a tentative guess, I would say that this is, indeed, the Chalice of Beginnings.”

Linhardt adds that based on the level of protection placed in this chasm, he can safely reaffirm this is the object they’ve been looking for. But he’s unsure if the sigils are a type of rune for the purpose of storing magic here, or something else entirely.

“A thousand thank-yous,” Constance bows to him, “for covering my own inadequacy with such a competent explanation.”

Frowning, Edelgard says, “I’m still not used to you speaking in such a manner.”

Bowing again, Constance replies, “Forgive me, Your Highness. If I have displeased you, please take my life as a small gesture of atonement.”

Claude shakes his head, then puts a hand to his chest. Looking to Edelgard, he mocks, “Oh, Your Highest of Highnesses, I doth humbly beg of thee to find forgiveness within your royal heart, surely gilded and encrusted with the finest of precious stones.”

Glaring, the princess replies, “Stop fooling around, Claude.” She gives a light yank to his braid and he cries out. _Well, he deserved that for mocking her, honestly_. “And Constance, I can assure you that there’s nothing to forgive. You needn’t speak to me in such a way in the future—or speak of yourself in such a demeaning manner either.”

Dimitri looks up to the sky. The sun is almost at the horizon, and most of the oranges have faded into pinks and purples. “Now that we’ve retrieved the chalice, we should return home. It’ll be nightfall soon.”

“Ugh, finally,” Hilda says. “Can we _please_ get back to Abyss now? My feet are so tired….”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Byleth agrees. “We don’t know what else is down here. It wouldn’t be smart to find things in the dark.”

They start their walk back up from where they came. The golems are still laying on the ground, but Byleth directs their path away from them, just in case. She stays behind with Constance who’s dragging her feet at the rear of the group.

“Excellent job with helping us find this,” she tries. Hopefully some words of encouragement will cheer her up. “If it hadn’t been for your initiative, we might’ve never gotten closer to finding a solution to the bandit problem.”

“Oh, no, Professor, you needn’t spoil me with undeserved praise. I have merely—”

The purples now stretch over the skies with deep blue following it. The first twinkle of stars begin to pepper along the blanket of the coming night.

Constance blinks, shaking her head. She frowns, staring at the ground. “Blast. It happened yet _again_. Professor, you and your class should not have witnessed me in such a pitiful state! I cannot even begin to describe—”

“It’s okay, Constance. We were just surprised. But, I do have to ask, is there no way to help you when you get like that?”

Sighing, she shakes her head. “If there _is_ a remedy, I have yet to find it. You see, this began a few years ago, just around the time after I lost my—”

The ground rumbles underneath them, stopping everyone lest they trip from the sudden jerk. Another sound like earth crumbling away has them look back. In the distance, a new golem emerges. A gilded one. The slits in its helmet glow white in the shroud of evening that’s now obscuring a lot of the chasm.

“_THE CHALICE OF BEGINNINGS HAS BEEN PURLOINED. INITIATING RETRIEVAL SEQUENCE_.” 

“No,” Constance takes a step back, holding the cup to her chest as she stares beyond with wide eyes, “it cannot be! I thought if we—!”

“Just run!” shouts Yuri, before all of them are making a break for the stone stairway they came out of.

Byleth stays at the rear to make sure no one is left behind. Despite still being slow, the golem is gliding faster toward them than the ones previous. And unfortunately for them, the exit way into the chasm is large enough for it to fit though, although its helmet does scrape off some of the earth at the top of the arch.

She hasn’t come this way since she and Claude got separated before. In that very small enclosure. One where she inevitably had to be pressed up against him. Tried to move down his firm body in order to turn, but looking back, she wonders if she made him uncomfortable. He had been tense, and his face was flushed red. But being that close, feeling his heartbeat in the palm of her hand—she felt warm again back there. Smelling that soothing pine scent on him sort of made her…

_No, why am I thinking about that now, of all times?_

The ceilings and tunnels widen the further in they go, but the golem still doesn’t give up its chase. Constance shouts an assumption that it won’t stop until it has the chalice, and Hapi suggests to just give it to the damn thing. She refuses, and says there must be a way to outrun or trap it. It’s then Yuri suggests a detour down to some tunnels he knows, and with no other options, they follow his lead.

They come to a wider area full of gates and levers. He notes that they’re indestructible and can only be opened or closed with the corresponding lever. Balthus confirms it as he recognizes the layout. Somewhere where he tried to punch one of the gates, but it didn’t budge an inch, not even with his Relic.

Once they pass the first gate, they don’t see a lever nearby. Dimitri tries to close it instead with his abnormal amount of strength, but it holds. The golem stalks closer, its head whirling on its shoulders as it turns the corner.

Ashe suggests they pass through the open gate in the distance since the lever is in a little hidden corner next to it. But Hilda counters that someone will still have to stay behind to close it.

“No, there’s a door there! Look!” he says, pointing. Right next to the lever, there is indeed a wooden door. “I’ll pull on the—”

“Are you sure about that, Freckles?” Hapi questions. “That lever is huge, and looks super heavy.”

“We need to close the gates somehow,” Edelgard starts, “otherwise that thing will continue to pursue us through the opening.”

“I’ll stay with Ashe,” Byleth says. “He’ll unlock the door and I’ll pull the lever. We just need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

And so they split up. It doesn’t take long for the larger group to get through the gates. “Professor,” Ashe says as he takes a plain hairpin out of his pocket to unfurl. “You get the lever going, and I’ll do this.”

Byleth pulls down on the handle, but it’s heavy, even for her. She has to brace her feet on the ground as she jerks it toward her. Slowly it starts to budge until a forceful yank has it lodging on the other side. She can hear the gates creak and Hilda shouting that it worked.

“Hurry up Ashe!” she says from beyond the door. “Get yourself and the professor out of there!”

“I’m almost—ah, got it!” he says, smiling as the lock clicks. The door opens and he waits for Byleth to pass through first before going in himself, locking it back again. As if the golem could possibly fit through there.

They see it on the other side of the gate. Making shrill mechanical noises as its arms try to smack against the metal, but it doesn’t even tremble. The space they’re currently in is smaller, with a tunnel down on the right side, most likely leading back to the room behind them. The golem stops its pounding, and glides back, turning left, before moving back once again.

“What’s it doing?” Claude wonders aloud.

“Looking for a place to go, I guess,” Hapi suggests. Just as she says that, it recedes further into another tunnel, large enough for it to fit. The creaks and groans from its metal body echo, getting closer and closer.

“Shit.” Yuri quickly rushes everyone through the next open gate. ”It’s coming this way through the side tunnel. This thing just won’t stop, will it?”

Dimitri is already running when he says, “There! Another lever!” He has an easier time pulling it down than Byleth did, or at least that’s what it looks like. It does still give a strained creak, but it eventually falls forward, activating the gates.

Another gate to their left also groans open at the same time. It reveals a smaller room with yet another locked door. Exactly what was the purpose of this particular area?

The gate closes on the golem and it gives another shrill steam-like sound. But they don’t wait for it to get smart again and figure out a way around it. They hurry toward the new open gate instead. Ashe is at the forefront, pin in hand.

“I’ll go open it! Meanwhile, let’s see if there’s a way we can close this o—”

And then he’s struck by a flying hand axe to the head, lodging deep in the side of his skull. He falls over, and doesn’t move.

“_Ashe_!” Linhardt shouts, being the first to run toward him. “Oh goddess, what the—?!”

Dimitri yells out his horror and anger, looking to where the attack came from. In a smaller tunnel to the right, more mercenaries pour into the room. Charging at them, asking to hand over the chalice and their deaths will be swift.

_How did they even know we had it?!_

Linhardt kneels beside Ashe, trying to heal him, gently attempting to pull the axe out. The knees of his trousers get soiled with blood seeping out of the head wound. But the weapon is so deep in his head, and slightly large for a hand axe, that she’s morbidly surprised it didn’t cut all the way to the other side. Linhardt keeps pulsing healing magic, but soon admits with a trembling voice that Ashe is already gone. She refuses to look at his vacant, lifeless stare.

Byleth turns back time again.

She still allows Dimitri to go for the lever, and the golem still gets stuck behind the bars. But now she runs with Ashe to guard him, and she hears the axe spinning through the air this time. She deflects it with the Sword of the Creator and it bounces off the wall, falling harmlessly to the ground.

“O-Oh!” Ashe looks on with wide eyes. “I didn’t even—Professor, you—!”

“Just go, Ashe! Unlock the door!”

Once the mercenaries swarm in, she and the others are forced to fight them. If only they knew that—if only the pathways when they first started this treasure hunt were big enough to bring more people. Yuri’s gang. Or maybe even her father’s company. The only saving grace is that this group of enemies is much smaller, and much more manageable. But for how long that’ll last, she doesn’t know.

In the far corner, back the way they came, there are enchanted tiles. A few are broken, but most of them are in one piece. They begin to glow, and she notices the Seiros Crest on the golem is glowing too. Then it disappears, and rematerializes where those special tiles are clustered.

“You’ve _got_ to be fucking kidding me,” Claude says with a shake his head, smile incredulous. “These things can _warp_?” and then he turns around to strike at a merc with his sword, slashing him across the chest. “How are we supposed to outrun it then?! _And_ handle these guys?!”

“It only appeared above those tiles,” she tells him, whipping her sword at two particularly large men waving their axes in their hands as they charge toward her. “And some of the tiles are broken. Look.” She points to the golem’s lower left-side. “It’s missing a chunk of metal there.”

Claude’s brow raises, and he says, “Oh, I get it! All of the tiles need to be relatively intact for it to warp.” He looks over beyond the closed gate and sees the missing chunks of metal there. “It can only warp in specific locations, otherwise it’s gotta move on its own.”

Ashe yells he’s got the door and then Byleth shouts for everyone to fall back. As they run, more mercenaries stampede in, but are halted by the golem.

“_ENEMY QUANTITY HAS INCREASED. ANNIHILATION SEQUENCE ENGAGED_.”

It pulls out another lance of light from its chest and sweeps it across the floor, incinerating anyone that gets caught up in it. The mercenaries yell as they try to attack it, until one notices Byleth and her group are sneaking away through the small room.

“Hey you little shits! Get back here!”

Claude takes out a combustible arrow, and says, “Hapi, light this up for me when it crests! It’ll be a low arch, so don’t aim too high!”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, a fireball already forming in her palm.

“Alright, get ready!” Just like in the Miklan battle, he shoots the arrow as fire magic sails after it. But it’s lower to the ground and is helpless for only a fraction of a second before the fire ignites it, and explodes. It creates a large hole in the floor, and some of the mercs fall through. It’s also large enough that no one—not even the golem, can follow them.

When they get to the room on the other side, Byleth tells Balthus to crush the next set of enchanted tiles with his gauntlets, and he doesn’t ask questions. She can hear yelling beyond as the golem continues to pick off its new targets. There’s another blast, metal pounding upon metal, a loud creak, and then more rumbling.

She assumes the golem was somehow pushed into the hole and tumbled down. Distant screams means she can only assume the hole widened, taking the mercenaries with the old stone.

The final room they get to before the stairway is clustered with enemies. They keep coming one after another. With no more arrows, Claude is forced to keep using his sword. And while he’s good—better than a lot of her other students—he’s not good enough to completely avoid the axe swing from a fortress knight.

He jumps back at the last second, but ends up losing his dominant arm in the process as it’s sliced clean off. His cry of pain has Byleth immediately turn back time again before he finishes screaming.

When she’s undone the damage, she’s a little weak on her feet. Sweat beads on her forehead but she wipes it off with the back of her forearm.

“Move,” she tells everyone, pushing through their small group. “And stay back. I’m sick of this shit.”

They protest, but one glare sent their way has them swallow their words. They watch from the safety of the nearest entryway as she stands before the next wave of mercenaries.

Byleth twirls the lethal whip high above her head, faster and faster, glowing that ethereal orange, before launching it forward. It skewers through one line of heavily armored knights, and she pulls it back out harshly, causing it to make a whip-like _crack_ sound in the air as she changes direction. She swerves the long blade at their allies coming in behind their lifeless forms. Like a ribbon in a gale, she cuts the air in a frenzy, gritting her teeth as she keeps her focus ahead. The edges of the whip strike at the onslaught of enemies, not a single one being able to get close enough to attack. Even magic spells get sliced in half and dissipate before the mages are impaled or dismembered by the long reach of the Sword of the Creator.

What’s left is just a pile of corpses and human parts in a sluggish river of blood and innards. She hears her group walk toward her, slowly, as the sword clatters back to its blade form. Byleth flicks her Relic to get the blood off. It dots the tiles on the ground and the tips of her boots.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Yuri says, coming up next to her. “You really do live up to your name of ‘Ashen Demon’.”

“I didn’t get it out of nowhere, you know.” But, she has to admit, she didn’t want her students and potential pupils to see her like this. And she’s got just enough cowardice in her to not want to turn around to take in their expressions. But if she didn’t do this, then Claude might’ve been the next one to…

“Hapi, Linhardt, Constance,” she starts, walking forward without looking at them, “once we’re all at the top of the staircase, burn these corpses with fire magic. Just cast the spell everywhere. At least they’ll be ashes and won’t spread disease into Abyss.”

They don’t argue, or even make a smartass comment.

Byleth tunes out the chatter as they make their way back to the Ashen Wolves classroom. Her head feels fuzzy and her hearing becomes a bit muffled as Constance proclaims victory over having recovered the chalice. Then someone from Abyss—maybe Zeke?—is speaking to Yuri, “—where _were_ you all—,” frantic, and all of them gawk at him in surprise for whatever reason as her vision starts to blur, “—Aelfric has—?!” vaguely realizes Hapi and Linhardt are reading off from a paper, before the sword slips out of her hand and she collapses onto the floor.

“Teach!” Claude exclaims in a worried tone. She feels him grip her shoulders—or maybe it isn’t him? Goddess, she’s so tired. Hard to focus. Is this what happens when she tries to use Divine Pulse too often in one battle? _Sothis…. Where’s Sothis…? Is she asleep again?_

“—pale? Did she exert—?” there’s an argument, “—trying to make this a debate. _You_ need to go tell the church meanwhile we—,” something about carrying her, “—but I can do it—!” and then she’s lifted into someone’s arms, “—lighter than she looks,” before she completely blacks out.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


When she wakes up, she’s in an unfamiliar room. It’s well-lit, so she can at least see it’s a bedroom of some kind. Large, with several bunk beds spanning the length of it. And she’s laying on a bottom one.

“Ah, you’re back,” Linhardt says, glancing up from his book. He’s sitting on a chair next to her. “How are you feeling, Professor? You don’t look pale anymore, so that’s a good sign. I was a little worried at first because your pulse was so slow and persisted that way for a while.”

Good thing he didn’t listen to her heartbeat. She can’t be so careless like that. “Better, I guess. I don’t know why I fainted.”

“I assume it’s because you somehow overexerted yourself while using the Relic. You’re not as used to it as Catherine is with hers, so it’d make sense.” As she sits up suddenly, he gently pushes her back down by the shoulder. “It’s safe; here under the bed. You think me, of all people, would’ve let anyone take it?”

“So were you watching over me, or guarding the sword?”

He smiles, amused. “Both. Anyway, I’ve checked you for injuries and you don’t have severe ones. Just a few cuts here and there, like everyone else.”

She notices the aforementioned ‘everyone else’ is absent. “That’s good. Where did they go?”

“Right. You were unconscious. Well, Professor, it seems the situation went from bad to worse.”

Aelfric has been kidnapped. That’s the first thing she’s told. It happened here in Abyss when they were all hunting for the chalice. That paper Linhardt and Hapi found was a ransom note, asking for the artifact in exchange for Aelfric. Who is… apparently one of the cardinals of the church? Their identities are kept top secret, but it makes sense now why Abyss was allowed to remain. His influence was likely a huge factor. Probably why he said he was a monk the first time they met. Linhardt also tells her that Constance thinks they have a rat in Abyss, because there’s no other way the mercenaries could’ve known they had the chalice.

“Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard went back up to the surface,” he explains, “to tell the church of what happened. Although Claude was pretty adamant in staying here with you—almost got into a verbal brawl with Yuri over it. But I managed to convince him to go. Yuri, Balthus, Hapi, and Constance are looking for clues as to how the kidnappers managed to get into Abyss.”

“What about Ashe and Hilda?”

“Right here, Professor!” comes the girl’s voice as she walks into the room. Ashe is behind her, carrying a tray of food. “When you began to stir, Ashe suggested we go fetch you something to eat for when you wake up.”

“Everything was closed for safety, but the mess hall in Chrysalis Row allowed me to cook something for you!” He sets it on the nightstand next to her. “It’s chicken and vegetable stew! Has a lot of nutrients that’s sure to make you feel better.” Next to it is a buttered bread roll and a small cup of what smells like ginger tea.

“He also made chocolate chip cookies!” Hilda chirps. She dangles a bag in front of her, setting two of the cookies down on the tray. She gives one to Linhardt, Ashe, and then herself. “Mm,” she bites into it, smiling wide, “they’re soft and warm! Fresh out of the oven! Ashe, you really are such a darling.”

Byleth sits up slowly this time. “It smells really good. Everything.”

She looks at the three of them as they tell her they’re glad she’s feeling better. All smiles and light voices as they eat. Smiles that would’ve been permanently erased had she not been granted the ability of Divine Pulse. Linhardt isn’t choking on his own blood as he bleeds out from his chest. Hilda isn’t a pulp of flesh and bones, and Ashe doesn’t have his head nearly cleaved in two. Their faces are bright with relief and modest contentment as they chatter.

When she stands up, they shuffle in front of her. “Professor, what’s wro—”

She shoots her arms out to gather them into a hug, Hilda in the middle with the boys on either side. She doesn’t let go, even when they voice their confusion at the sudden embrace. They’re warm against her, and breathing. Eventually they hug her back, lightly asking why she’s being so affectionate all of a sudden. A heavy weight gets stuck in her throat, and her eyes feel hot.

_It’s okay. You need to tell yourself that it’s—Byleth, you saved them. They’re here, now. Alive, and in one piece. Take this as a victory. Double-up on their training soon, so they can be more prepared for future close calls._

“I’m sorry,” she whispers_. For not being able to prevent your deaths the first time._ “I told Ignatz I wouldn’t suddenly hug you guys, but I…”

“Oh, Professor,” Hilda squeezes her tighter, “we don’t mind! It’s actually super cute you care about us so much!”

“Uh, well I wouldn’t call it cute, exactly,” Ashe lightly disagrees, “but it is… um, nice. Thoughtful.” His fingers tighten their hold on the back of her shirt. “A-And we don’t mind! You just do it unexpectedly so it’s always surprising, ha….”

“You can hug me whenever,” adds Linhardt, casually resting his chin on top of her head, “except when I’m eating. Or if it makes it difficult for me to read or impedes my ability to conduct research. Or when I’m trying to sleep. But I’m not against cuddling and I don’t care about propriety between student and teacher—well, _you_ specifically as a teacher, anyway. Those are my only rules.”

Byleth hums, removing herself from them. Hilda is smiling sweetly and Linhardt looks relaxed, a small smile on his own lips. Ashe is very pink in the cheeks and avoids her eyes, but otherwise looks fine. “I think I’m getting used to hugging more, so, I’m sorry in advance if it happens out of nowhere again.”

“Nothing to apologize for!” Hilda has her sit back down and brings the nightstand closer to use as a small table. “Now eat up, Professor, before it gets cold. Ashe worked so hard on this and it’d be a shame if you didn’t at least have a few bites!”

“It wasn’t trouble at all!” he assures. “I wouldn’t say I worked hard on it, but I did put my best effort in to make sure it would be delicious for you. Hilda taste tested, and she said it’s really good, so I’m hoping you think so too.”

“Because it is! Just like these cookies! Which I’m going to eat more of.” And she plops down on the bed beside Byleth to finish munching on her current piece.

They keep her company as she has dinner. The stew is really delicious. Flavorful, and even colorful with the kinds of vegetables Ashe used. When she asks if they already ate, they tell her they did. The conversation fades into how can they ever hope to rescue Aelfric if they have to give up the chalice they risked their necks for (and unbeknownst to them, they did pay that price).

Someone knocks on the doorframe, drawing their attention away. “Good, you’re looking better,” says Yuri, a slight smile on his face. “And just in time. Claude and the other two are back with a few knights. One of them says he knows you. Alois, think he said his name was. He’s in the classroom; wants to talk. You up for it?”

She nods. “Let me just finish my food, and I’ll be right over.”

Yuri says not to take too long before he leaves. Linhardt, Hilda, and Ashe wait with her before they walk to the classroom together. Everyone is there and gives their own grateful comments she’s looking better. Claude, especially, appears the most thankful for it. Such a relieved, content look on his face that it has her turning away, feeling warm again.

“Byleth!” Alois greets. “Good to see you! I’ve been filled in on the happenings, especially after we got a report Aelfric was missing.”

“You really know this guy?” asks Hapi.

“Yes. He’s a friend of my father’s, and to others around the monastery. Alois is a good man, and among the strongest in the Knights of Seiros. He’s one of the most trustworthy people I know.”

He laughs, looking a little bashful as he rubs the back of his head. “You humble me, Byleth! Er, anyway, I didn’t know you and your students were down here until I was informed a few minutes ago—or that you knew of Abyss at all. How are you feeling by the way? I was also told you fainted after a grueling battle for… what was it again?”

“The Chalice of Beginnings,” Yuri reminds, looking a little annoyed. “The kidnappers want it in exchange for Aelfric, otherwise they’ll kill him.”

“Does that artifact really exist? I thought it was a myth!”

“It is most certainly not a tale of fiction,” Constance says, presenting it to him. Alois’s eyes grow wide like saucers. “But we cannot just hand this over to those scoundrels after everything we endured to obtain it! The Chasm of the Bound was being guarded by monstrous metal doll-like things, and there were even warriors composed of white shadows chasing after us! We nearly lost our lives trying to uncover this!”

Balthus adds, “Yeah. I know it might sound hard to believe, but that’s what happened. And now that we know this is in fact what all the intruders into Abyss are after, we can’t just hand it over. Who knows what they plan to do with it. But my gut tells me it ain’t good.”

Alois looks to Byleth, asking, “Is this true?”

She nods, humming to confirm. “It is. I was with them the entire time, and I… well, even I have to admit that there were several times I thought we were done for down there. Even with the Sword of the Creator, it wasn’t easy coming back here in one piece.”

“How terrifying. To think the chalice was in Abyss this whole time.” He shakes his head, brow furrowing. “Although, most of the holy knights were deployed to the Western Church to make sure every last follower of the bishop is apprehended. As a result, we’re low on forces at the moment, but we do need to rescue Aelfric. How frustrating that we’re so underprepared….”

Balthus tries to look at the positives with, “Hey, some knights is better than no knights, yeah?”

“I like your attitude, though I’m still embarrassed that we’re not in full force. But hey, at least we’re quite… _force_ful!” he ends with a laugh.

Yuri groans. “Here,” he hands him a rolled up parchment, “take this letter. It was left by the enemy and explains their plan. They want the chalice before nightfall tomorrow.”

“Ah yes, thank you very much!” He stows it away underneath his chest plate. “I will report to Lady Rhea at once. Byleth, I assume you still want to assist with this matter?”

“I do. I promised the Ashen Wolves I’d help them figure out who this mystery threat is, and bring stability back to Abyss. But it is getting more dangerous from the looks of things.”

Turning to Yuri, she says, “I know you don’t trust easily, but at this point, I have to insist the rest of my class helps out. My father’s mercenaries too—even my father himself, if possible. If we’re going to rescue Aelfric _and_ keep the chalice in our possession, we’ll have to pull out all the stops this time.”

“Fine,” he says with a silent sigh. “Tomorrow, I’m going up there to personally vet your students that aren’t currently present. And if they have any questions, it’ll be better if I’m around to answer.”

“Alois,” Byleth looks to him, “I’m going with you to report to Lady Rhea meanwhile my students get back up to the monastery to recuperate. Tomorrow will be a long day, I’ll bet.”

“Yes, of course. Then let’s not waste any more time!”

Despite the worry of having her entire class involved in this, they’re going to find out about Abyss sooner or later. Especially if Yuri and the others agree to join her roster. She just hopes she’s not making a huge mistake by putting more of her little deer in harm’s way.

And, at least for the remainder of this mission, hopes she won’t need to use Divine Pulse again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P. Linhardt, Hilda, and Ashe. :(
> 
> Damn, lucky Byleth has Divine Pulse, huh? I fucking hated this map. (3 golems at a time plus a bunch of ghost/shadow soldiers in the advanced classes? Bye.) No one died, thankfully, because I was extremely careful, but it was still a pain in the ass to get through. I put the key in the center statue the first time, so I had to fight more enemies until I got another key to put in the statue on my right-hand side (which would be the cast's left-hand side). I cry for the people who got through the two wrong statues before they got to the correct one. The map after this one where you had to escape through the tunnels also really sucked. There were actually two golems here, one who chases you until you lock it behind a gate, and another who's waiting at the bottom of the map in the farthest corner near a lever. But I wanted this map to make more narrative sense so I improvised a bit.
> 
> Lots of gory violence in this chapter. Makes me consider raising the rating again, but I really don't want to do that unless sexual content is involved, which it won't be for a long time. Unless you folks think I should.
> 
> On a lighter note, today is Claude's birthday so HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BEST BOY OF 3H!! Sexiest man in this game, with a sexy brain and heart to match!! Love him so much!! He deserves only good things!! 🥳🎂🎉🎁🎈💖🥰
> 
> Claudeleth week is almost over, and because this fic is a priority, I couldn't write anything for most of the prompts. However, I did manage to write something for the last one, Free Day, so [here it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25522168) if you want to check it out! Hope you all like it if you feel inclined to read. ;w;
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	41. XLI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and company risk the Chasm of the Bound. They discover the metal golems are the first line of defense, with white shadowed soldiers being the second. Though they do eventually retrieve the chalice from its enchanted lock, it isn't without consequence. Linhardt and Hilda are killed when in the chasm: him stabbed through the chest from a shadowed soldier, and her flattened by a golem's hands. When being chased through the tunnels by a fourth doll, Ashe is the next to die, getting a flying hand axe to the head from a surprise mercenary attack. Byleth uses Divine Pulse to save each of them, and then again when Claude's arm is severed by a fortress knight, just as they reach the end of the tunnel. Turning back time so often, plus using the Sword of the Creator excessively, causes Byleth to faint once the danger is over. When she wakes, she finds out that Aelfric has been kidnapped; the ransom price is the chalice. Alois chats with them all in Abyss, and they decide to report to Rhea to discuss their next course of action.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XLI ⧽  
  
Plans of Rescue

Constance suggests she and the other three Wolves should join Alois and Byleth’s discussion with Rhea. Her case is that it’s best if they’re there to show how serious they are in helping the church rescue Aelfric, but Byleth feels like it’s an opportunity for her to get into good graces with the archbishop via the chalice. Not that she’ll tell her no. Constance has been through a lot already, and Byleth isn’t going to make life harder for her.

Once they’re all up on the surface, her students are dismissed to go rest. While tomorrow is Sunday, they’ll still attend class in the morning as normal. The other students will be notified later. Only then will Byleth tell them what their next course of action will be.

Yuri and his three friends get looks from some of the clergy as they make their way to the audience chamber. Byleth keeps a watchful eye, just in case anyone tries to do anything funny.

_A lot has transpired since I fell into my slumber._

_Sothis, you’re back._

_Yes. I went through your memories meanwhile you were speaking with Alois. I am sorry that three more of your students met their ends._

_It’s my carelessness that got them killed. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, Sothis, for gifting me this power._

_You can begin by ceasing the harsh criticism upon yourself. Should you adjust their training regimens after this experience? I think that would be a wise idea. Should you be more vigilant? Absolutely. But will I scold you for what happened? No. While you are, in fact, the most skilled out of your deerlings, do not forget your own youth._

_Yuri, Hapi, and Constance are around my age, and yet they’re just as skilled as I am._

_But they have also endured several hardships, no doubt, to force their hand in such a manner. While your life as a mercenary was not easy by any means, you still had different experiences. But you are resilient, Byleth, and eventually you_ will_ figure out how to keep your class alive without needing to draw upon my power more often than you would like._

Alois has them wait outside the room meanwhile he speaks with Rhea. Constance is reluctant to hand him the chalice, but his friendly smile and assurance the archbishop will hear them out has her eventually give in.

The knights guarding them eye the Wolves with scrutiny. But as long as Byleth is around, she won’t let anyone badmouth them, or bring them harm. (Not that they can’t hold their own.)

“Lady Rhea will see you now,” Alois says as he holds open the door for them. “I have to organize what troops we do have, but I’ll definitely be seeing you tomorrow! Excuse me.”

Byleth leads them into the room with three knights flanking them on either side and one behind. She really doesn’t think this much security is necessary, and according to Hapi’s eyeroll, she’s not alone in that opinion either.

“Professor,” Rhea greets with a warm smile. She has the chalice cradled in both hands. “It is good to see you again. You as well, Yuri.” He only nods, before she continues, “Alois has told me of everything that occurred down in Abyss. I have also read the ransom note from the heathens who kidnapped Aelfric. But how they were even able to in the first place still eludes me….”

“Your Grace,” Constance starts, giving a respectful bow, “may I assume that Sir Alois also told you of the chalice, and our immense efforts to retrieve it?”

“He did, yes.” She holds it up as she examines it with nimble fingers. “This is indeed the Chalice of Beginnings. Exactly as the texts describe.”

“Don’t beat around the bush,” Yuri says. The knights gawk at him, and one even looks like they want to stab him with their lance. “What’s our punishment?”

Rhea gives the slightest of smiles, almost as if amused. No hint of offense anywhere. “You removed a most sacred treasure,” she begins, lowering the chalice. “Truly it is my obligation to mete out punishment for that transgression. However…”

Her smile is a little more apparent now. “You also helped the church locate a valuable artifact. In light of this good deed, I shall forgive the bad one.”

“My sincerest of gratitudes,” Constance says, bowing again. “You are most gracious, Lady Rhea.”

“Thank you, but it is undue praise. I am simply balancing the situation accordingly. Although, I do wonder…”

“What’s on your mind?” asks Byleth.

“From what I have been told, the chalice was heavily guarded. Apparently with great magic, enough to animate metal structures and summon forth apparitions of warriors. However, the chalice cannot be removed without the Crests of the Four Apostles, as they were the ones to seal it away. Seeing as how their bloodlines remain a mystery to this day, I have to guess that it was your presence, Professor, that aided in substitution.”

“Maybe,” Byleth replies. “I don’t actually know what my Crest of Flames is truly capable of yet.”

“In time, all of its prowess will be revealed to you, I am certain. At present, there is no knowing if your Crest truly was what unlocked the powerful magic placed upon the chasm. For the time being, I will keep the chalice somewhere safe now that I have been made aware there is a malicious second party searching for its whereabouts.”

She tucks it closer to her. Constance keeps her eyes on it, frowning just the slightest bit, but remains silent.

“As for Aelfric,” Rhea’s expression hardens, “I assure you the knights will find and return him to our monastery. I consider him to be one of my many children, after all. I will not allow harm to befall him. His kidnappers will be dealt with harshly, that I can promise.”

“Lady Rhea,” Constance steps forward, giving another bow, “might I ask a moment of your time?”

“Of course. Please, speak.”

“We cannot be expected to give up our endeavor! The enemy stated most clearly that if the knights are involved, our dear Aelfric is finished!” She clasps her hands together, almost pleading. “We owe him so much. If there is any possibility that his life is in danger, the risk is too great to chance!”

“I understand your concern, Constance, but what alternative would you propose?”

“Us,” Hapi states. “The knights are strong and all, but it might be better to keep them here in the monastery. Y’know, in case those thugs try to sniff around for the chalice. We don’t mind going after these guys ourselves. Besides, Chatterbox will be with us.”

Rhea blinks, looking confused. “Who… is this ‘Chatterbox’?”

“She means me,” Byleth clarifies. “That’s her nickname for me.”

“Ah, I see. It pleases me that you are building a level of familiarity with the students, Professor,” she replies lightly. “But, are you certain you wish to aid?”

“Byleth has the strength of a hundred knights,” Balthus claims with a wide grin, “or about one and a half of me. With our combined forces, we’ll be able to rescue Aelfric in no time. How ‘bout it, Rhea? Just leave him and the chalice to us. You won’t regret it.”

Again the knights glare at him for daring to be so casual, but Rhea only looks even more amused. Maybe she doesn’t mind it when people speak to her like that if their intentions aren’t to be disrespectful?

“This can be my class’ mission for the month,” adds Byleth. “They still need to rest, but… Aelfric is a priority. If we work together with the Ashen Wolves, we’ll be able to bring him home safely.”

Yuri steps forward, actually bowing low. “Lady Rhea,” he meets her eyes, “please.”

She regards all of them now with a focused look. The knights tell her there’s no need to send children to do their work. They’re more than capable of disguising themselves to appear as regular civilians. But for all they know, the enemy might be expecting it. No, she and the others have gone through too much to take such a chance.

Byleth steps up beside Yuri, back straight. “I’ll take full responsibility should we fail.” That earns her a genuine wide-eyed look from the man next to her. She meets Yuri’s eyes, still full of disbelief, until his expression relaxes.

Rhea places one hand on top of the cup. “If you join your power with theirs, then… yes, I suppose the risk will be greatly minimized.” With a nod, she presents Byleth the artifact. “As you wish. I shall entrust you with the chalice, Professor.”

The nearest knight sputters, arguing, “Y-Your Grace, the chalice is a legendary treasure! I understand that these… kids, managed to find it, but you can’t just hand it over to those underground ra—!”

“_Enough_,” Rhea replies in a firm tone, holding up a hand. “There is no cause to worry, I assure you. With that being said, this topic will not be discussed further. The professor, her class, and the Ashen Wolves will rescue Aelfric, meanwhile we guard the monastery.”

The knight grumbles when Byleth takes the chalice. Rhea looks to the disgruntled man, explaining, “Even if we lost hold of the chalice, it would be impossible for the thieves to make use of it. Though it was created to return a life that has passed, I doubt anyone alive knows how to accomplish such a feat.”

Her gaze turns to Byleth, expression unreadable. “Were someone to successfully replicate this ritual, however… it would perhaps be the work of fate.”

She feels gooseflesh on her arms, and holds the chalice closer. Byleth gives her thanks before being dismissed with the others.

_What was that… look, upon her visage?_

_You felt unsettled too?_

_Quite so. But I haven’t the faintest idea as to the reason. The way her gaze stuck to you—of course you could not see as you walked away with everyone, but Rhea did not take her focus off of you. She smiled a little before returning to her office._

Sothis sighs.

_This chalice… it feels familiar somehow… much like the Sword of the Creator._

_I think it’s also made out of bone like the Relics._

_Yes, I believe you are correct. But the more artifacts we find made of such a material, the more melancholic I become._

_Why?_

_I… I do not know. Only that my sorrow grows every time I chance a look upon them…._

She begins to drift off to sleep soon afterward, suggesting to Byleth that she do the same once she returns to her room.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


The next morning she finds Yuri at her doorstep in his casual wear again. And he has a large basket of what she assumes is breakfast. Sure smells like it.

“Good morning, Yuri.”

“Hey there, friend. Thought you might be hungry. Cooked you up a little something for breakfast. May I come in?” She lets him pass before closing the door. “Hmm, pretty sparse in here.”

“I’m not one for decorating.”

Yuri sets the basket on the back counter. He takes out two plates, laying them side by side. “I figured you and I could have a little meal before we properly start our day. There’s a bit of time before class starts, right?”

“Today is Sunday, so there’s no class. But I personally went to everyone’s dorm to ask them to meet at the classroom in about an hour for an announcement. I don’t want to keep them waiting, especially since I woke them up early on their day off.”

“We better get to eating, then.”

He serves them both a hearty portion of sausage; omelet mixed with cheddar cheese, onions, tomatoes, and spinach; a fluffy bread roll stuffed with sweetened raspberry jam, and a cup of orange juice. The sausage is flavorful, omelet savory, bread roll delightfully warm, and the juice perfectly pulpy.

When she hums, Yuri smiles. “How’s it taste?”

“Delicious.”

“Good to hear, since I made it all myself.”

“You did? Oh, you didn’t need to go through the trouble.”

“Wasn’t at all an issue,” he says, eating another forkful of egg. “_I’m_ an excellent cook. Even if it’s something I’ve never made before, I can guarantee it’ll taste divine.”

Byleth takes a drink of her juice before she asks, “Is there anything you can’t do? First you’re a pretty formidable melee fighter, but you also know healing spells, are a gang leader, and now a chef.”

He laughs lightly. “When you’ve lived the kind of life I have, you learn pretty quickly to get good at a lot of things.”

“Well, thanks for the kind gesture. I’ll pay you back for it.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted to do it just because.” As he lifts the cup to his lips, he says, “Gotta admit, I’m excited to meet your other students. If they’re as colorful as the ones I know so far, well, all the better.”

“They’re good kids. Some are reluctant to fight, like Bernadetta. Others pretty much live for it, like Felix and Raphael.”

She starts to give details about the remainder of her roster, including the newly added Mercedes and Annette. What each students’ strengths are, and their weaknesses. Their quirks. Habits to look out for. How she’s been training them all and learning to be proficient with weapons alongside them, ones that she never really utilized before, like the magic arts. What kinds of missions they’ve been on to prove to him that they’re capable.

“Ah, so it was your class that took down Miklan and his gang of thieves. Even with a Relic in his possession.”

“Did you know him?”

“Just _of_ him. The people in northern Faerghus had a lot to say on how much they hated Miklan. Even other felons. As a criminal of sorts myself, that guy was absolute scum. Get a little pissed whenever others in the underground assume we’re cut from the same cloth.”

She asks him if he means the razing of villages, looting their resources, and abducting women to have his way with them. Yuri’s grip on the cup tightens enough she can actually hear the slight strain from the tin.

“Exactly. I’d never pillage from the poor, and absolutely would never do what he did to those women. Guys like that deserve to suffer for an eternity in whatever hell they find themselves in.”

“That’s how Sylvain feels too.”

“His little brother, if I’m not mistaken.”

Byleth nods. “He was the one to deliver the killing blow to Miklan. I’ve been checking up on him since then, and Sylvain says he’s fine. But I have a feeling he’s not dealing with his true feelings on the whole matter.”

“Figure it’s hard to make sense of it. Trying to come to terms with having such a vile person as a relative, a brother no less.”

“Yeah.”

When there’s a knock at her door, she looks to Yuri. A crooked smile appears on his lips. “You can answer it. I don’t mind what people think I’m doing in here, should they see me. We’re both adults, aren’t we?”

She goes to answer it then, also not caring what they’ll think of her having a guy in here so early in the morning. But, in this situation, it’s unfortunate that the visitor just so happens to be Dorothea.

“Professor! You’re awake; good. I wanted to—,” she looks over her shoulder to see Yuri lounging on the chair in the back. He wiggles his fingers in greeting, that smug smile still on his face.

“_Oh_.” Dorothea puts a hand to her mouth. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. Professor, I have to say, sneaking around with that same mysterious man from before is really stirring my imagination,” she teases.

“He’s not my lover,” Byleth clarifies, just as Yuri walks up behind her. When he wraps an arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer, she gives him a look.

“You don’t need to hide the nature of our relationship, my dear,” he purrs. “We’re both attractive people. It was only a matter of time before things got physical.”

Dorothea is grinning now, looking between them. “Professor, was this a morning after you…?”

Byleth shrugs Yuri’s arm off of her. “What can I help you with, Dorothea?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, what I came here to do. Well, after Mercedes joined your class last month as an assistant pupil, I wanted to try it out myself. I’ve heard only good things about how you manage your class, but I want a trial run first before I decide anything major.”

“Are you… saying you’re interested in joining?”

“Depends on how this month goes. I want to get a feel for it first. To see if it’s a really good fit. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Plus, she’d be another helping hand in rescuing Aelfric. “I was actually going to tell my class today that we have a new assignment for the month.”

“You’re gathering them on a Sunday?”

“It’s a special case. I’d appreciate it if you could be there too so I can explain. I’ll bring the paperwork with me.”

“Thank you, Professor!” She looks to Yuri, and giggles. “Well, I won’t take up more of your time. I’m sure you’d like to get back to doing your business with your… guy friend.” With a wink, she leaves, looking back with glee only once before she’s out of sight around the corner of the academy building.

Closing her door, Byleth asks, “Yuri, what the hell was that?”

“A bit of teasing. One I thought for sure you’d clarify was just a joke. Yet you didn’t correct her.”

“I don’t care what people think about who I may or may not be involved with romantically. Or sexually. Or _however_ they wanna interpret it. But it was still an unnecessary thing for you to have done.”

“Was it?”

She’s backed against the wall when he steps up to her. Given enough space that if she wanted, she could easily slip out. Though he does lean his forearm against the wall, right above her head.

“Let’s not deny that there’s a real connection between us,” he starts, voice smooth. “In every possible way. So, Byleth, how about you and I have ourselves a little date, huh?”

Is he serious? To ask something like that in their current situation? Were all those times he’s called her ‘cute’ or ‘adorable’ actually genuine? She can admit she feels… something toward him. But it’s more of a need to understand who he is with still so much mystery shrouding him. Perilous ones, she’s sure. There’s also something about him that reminds her of Claude.

And when she sees it, she says, “You’re smiling with your mouth, but not your eyes.”

He grins wider, a slight laugh escaping him. “It only happens when I’m being a little greedy.”

“Now isn’t the time for leisure like that.”

“Sure it is. With my heart full from a nice date, I’ll be poised to fight with extra vigor in the next battle.”

Yuri doesn’t take his eyes off her, looking as cool as a cucumber. Byleth crosses her arms. “I’d make your heart full, huh? You’re starting to sound like Sylvain. He’s been trying to convince me to go out with him since we first met. Flirts relentlessly that it’s pretty much like water rolling off a duck’s back at this point to me. Though he doesn’t say it, I can tell sex with me is something he’s thought about too.”

“No no, nothing like that. He and I have pretty distant definitions for what a first date should be like. I want to get to know you, Byleth the person, in private; not your body._ That_ can come much later, if things go right. Won’t even mind if you brought a weapon with you on our little outing. And you _also_ haven’t said no,” he ends with a grin.

While not the first time she’s been asked out, it _is_ the first time she’s seriously considering it. If only to uncover what this feeling is when she’s around him. Something that makes her need to know him beyond the pleasantries and sharp calculating gaze he gives other people. She wonders if that’s the connection he’s talking about, because it sure isn’t anything on the emotional or physical level. At least on her end.

“Well, I do want to… get to know you too. Since you’re also a house leader and my ally. Maybe, just this once…”

“It’s settled then.” He steps away, still smiling. “How about later today? When the clock strikes midnight, meet me out front of the Holy Mausoleum. My only condition is that you arrive promptly before midnight—and not a moment sooner. What say you?”

Conditions? Is he going to cook for her again because he wants to make it nice?

“That’s a very specific place, with a very specific time. Why there, and when? Isn’t it forbidden to go there anyway?”

“Midnight is the most romantic time of the evening! If I’m going to take you out on a date, it’s gotta be done right. As for why the Holy Mausoleum, you’ll see. Or is the idea of going out with me not appealing?”

As he crosses his arms, the huff he makes sounds more like a chuckle. “Nobles have nearly killed one another fighting for my affections, you know.” They _have_? Who exactly is this guy? “Perhaps you won’t get all you want out of me, but I promise you’ll have a fun time regardless.”

Well, now she really is curious. So, she agrees with a nod of her head. “Okay. But only if we rescue Aelfric first. That’s what today’s going to be all about.”

“Oh, we will. I have confidence in our combined abilities to solve this. It’s settled then; we have our hot date tonight. But don’t forget: not a moment before midnight, under any circumstance. And don’t stand me up.”

Not that she was planning to. This spontaneous date is making her progressively more curious about why it’s so specific. Is he the kind to go all out for someone?

With their breakfast done, they head to the Officers Academy. All of her students are in attendance when they get to the classroom. Some in their casual wear, and others still in their pajamas. Dorothea is also here. Speaking with Claude and Sylvain, apparently, a sly smile on her lips. The two boys look to Byleth and Yuri when they step closer, mild surprise evident on their expressions. Or maybe disbelief would be the better word.

“Good morning, everyone,” she greets the class. “Sorry to call you all here on a Sunday, but I have some important announcements that can’t wait. Dorothea will be joining us this month for our training sessions and a few of our lectures as our monthly assistant. Additionally, Lady Rhea has given us all this moon’s mission.”

“And who is this fellow?” asks Lorenz, politely gesturing to Yuri. “I do not believe I have ever seen you around.”

“Yuri Leclerc’s my name. I’m a special acquaintance of your lovely professor’s. And the reason for this month’s assignment, you could say.” He looks to Byleth, as if asking to take the floor. She merely nods.

“For the past few days,” he starts, glancing around the room, stopping only briefly on Bernadetta for whatever reason, “she, along with the house leaders and three of your classmates, have been helping me and my friends with a problem. One they stumbled into accidentally at first. But now this problem has gotten too big for us to handle with just our small group. And while I’m reluctant to put other people at risk, she’s assured me you’re all capable of lending a hand. We’ve run outta options at this point, so hear me out before you protest. I’ll answer any questions you may have afterward.”

He tells them about Abyss. Why it’s there, the kind of people that reside in it. Tells them about Balthus, Hapi, and Constance. The existence of the Ashen Wolves House. Of the plot they’ve uncovered as to why Abyss keeps getting targeted. The dangers they went through in the Chasm of the Bound to get the Chalice of Beginnings. That one of the cardinals is Aelfric, and why he was most likely kidnapped.

“So,” he concludes, “you see why we can’t bring knights. The brigands will kill him at the first sight of one. This class, along with Edelgard and Dimitri, your professor, and us Wolves, will add up to twenty-four people. That should be decent. Usually, I’d have my gang fighting alongside me, but they’ll be in Abyss watching out for the place meanwhile we’re up here.”

“I’ll also ask about my father’s mercenaries,” Byleth offers. “They’re not knights. Don’t dress or act like them either. I doubt we can take battalions with us. They’ll have to do for our situation.”

“Sure thing.” Smiling at everyone, he asks, “Any questions?”

“Um…,” Bernadetta shakily raises her hand, “d-do we all have to go, Professor?”

“Normally I’d let you opt out, but unfortunately we’re going to need all hands on deck for this.”

“O-Oh… um… okay, I guess….”

“I might just get in your way,” Marianne says softly. “For something this important, maybe I should stay behind….”

“You won’t get in anyone’s way, Marianne,” Byleth assures. “We’ll need someone to watch us from afar to heal our injuries. And Bernadetta, your help really would be valuable too. You can snipe from a distance so you’re not directly in the fray.”

She whines quietly, sinking further into her seat. Yuri smiles at her, and she squeaks, hiding under the table. “S-Stop staring at me, please!”

No one else really asks any other questions (maybe because half of them are still drowsy). Things specific to Abyss are met with a promise that once they help out with this mission, Yuri will personally take the class on a tour. But for now they’ll have to wait in anticipation. The battle will be today, a meager silver lining since they have no class and they can pass off the whole thing as training to anyone who questions them.

“Where are they keeping the cardinal?” asks Felix. “It’d be a waste of time searching if we don’t even know their hideout.”

“On the outskirts of Garreg Mach,” Yuri informs. “There’s an old settlement to the south-west at the base of the mountain. It’s been abandoned for ages. The ransom letter specifically said they’ll have eyes hidden around the forest when we get closer to make sure we’re not being followed by knights. So we’ll need to keep our guard up.”

Yuri looks to Byleth. “Ask your father’s mercenaries to spread out meanwhile the class gets ready. That way it’ll be harder for the kidnappers to detect us.”

With no further questions from her students—only an assurance they’ll help—Yuri asks each of them what their strengths and weaknesses are. It’s amazing how quickly he can place a name to a face simply from when Byleth described their personalities to him earlier. He leaves once that’s over. Says he’ll meet them at the base of the mountain no later than two hours from now.

She has her class gear up and informs she’ll be waiting for them at the entrance hall meanwhile she procures aid supplies. It takes her a bit to find one of her father’s men to relay the situation with him, explaining their task and how to hide within the forest. To hang back until they see her class pass through the traveled dirt trail before slowly following behind in the cover of the shade and trees.

Other people in passing wonder where she’s going once she’s in her myrmidon armor, and she just says she’s taking her class out to train today. Edelgard and Dimitri happen to run into her along the way, saying Yuri came to find them for the same reason. Although they have three extra people with them: Hubert, Dedue, and Ingrid.

“Is Yuri okay with it?” Byleth asks.

“He is,” Edelgard nods, “at least after we made our introductions. He’s very shrewd when it came to his brief interview of everyone.”

“I’m sure he wanted to confirm that everyone can be trusted. He did the same to my class.”

“And I promised to do my best to help,” Ingrid says, standing tall. “My pegasus and I will assist from the air. I can take care of assaults you might miss, Professor.”

“Thank you. Leonie will be on her own pegasus, so make sure to work with her if you can.”

Everyone eventually trickles together with their weapons, and those who have mounts. Leonie and Ingrid say they’ll have their steeds walk until they get closer to their assigned destination so as not to attract attention. Once everyone is ready, Byleth leads them all away from the entrance. Anthony bids her good luck with whatever joint training session she’s doing.

The walk to the south-west base of the mountain takes a little over half an hour. Because they’re not allowed to use the caravans due to the scope of their mission, she doesn’t rush anyone downhill in order to save up their stamina.

“Why didn’t you bring a few more people?” Byleth asks Edelgard to pass the time.

“Hubert is the only one I can trust to keep mum on the existence of Abyss. Caspar would have been a valuable assistant in this mission as he’s very enthusiastic about… fighting in general. But at present, he’s too much of a wild card. Sometimes goes off and does whatever he pleases, ignoring orders.”

“And what about Ferdinand? I’ve heard from Lorenz that he’s pretty advanced in his training.”

“He is incapable of keeping his mouth shut,” Hubert answers. “He would have undoubtedly announced his assistance for all of the monastery to hear if it stroked his ego. Discretion is something that still eludes him.”

Though she still doesn’t know Ferdinand all that well, she guesses there’s some truth to it. Undoubtedly Lorenz might’ve been in the same boat, had he not been her student. At this point, he understands when discrepancy is needed.

The sun is a little higher in the sky now, but it’s still particularly cloudy. She hopes this’ll be favorable to Constance. If they’re going to rescue Aelfric, they’ll need everyone to be on top of their game.

Sure enough, she doesn’t see the dour look on the girl’s face when they meet at the foot of the mountain. She’s standing proudly next to her pegasus. Ingrid coos at it, saying she’s never seen one in that color before.

“Yes a fine breed she is!” comes the reply, complete with a haughty laugh. “Only the best for an advanced scholar of the magic arts, such as myself, Constance von Nuvelle!”

Byleth introduces her class to the rest of the Wolves (apparently Constance and Mercedes know each other from childhood; small world), and tells them what they all currently specialize in. Who has healing capabilities, who is faster on their feet, has more stamina when running, and other related statistics.

“Professor,” Sylvain starts, walking up to her, “you didn’t mention two of the Ashen Wolves were actually foxy ladies.” Putting on his best smile, he says to the girls, “You two must be the gems of your house, aren’t you? I’d be more than happy to give you a little polish if you’re looking to shine,” and ends it with a charming wink.

Off to the side, Felix rolls his eyes while shaking his head.

“Away with you, man of loose virtue!” Constance shoos with her hand. Claude laughs at that. _Loudly_. “Your accolades—while having a modicum of truth—are nonetheless false of sincerity, and I have heard many a tale of your salacious behavior even down in Abyss.”

Ingrid, on the other hand, slowly closes her eyes and sighs deeply, her mouth in a tight line and mumbling something under her breath.

“I will not be added to your tally of bedwarmers, Gautier.”

“What Coco said,” Hapi agrees. “Like, sure you’re hot and everything, but honestly I’d rather sleep with someone else if I had to pick. Thanks for thinking I’m pretty though, I guess. Even if you give compliments out like candy.”

“I’m not asking for that!” Sylvain tries. “But a date with you would surely lift my spirits and make me happy, Hapi.”

“Mm, thanks, but no thanks, Red. I’d rather pick someone like Linny to keep me company.”

He mouths like a fish out of water, looking back at his drowsy classmate, and then to Hapi. “Do you mean Linhardt? _Seriously_?”

“Well pardon _me_,” the sleepy mage says. “Sorry we don’t all have wide shoulders, hard muscles, and tousled locks.” He yawns. “I’m not insulted though. Just surprised I’d come to mind.”

“It’s because you don’t care that I picked you,” Hapi states. “And, y’know, looks aren’t what really matter to me at the end of the day. I also don’t know too many people here. I mean, there’s Freckles.” She nods to Ashe. “You’re kinda cute, and a nice guy from what I know of so far, so, I’d probably pick you if not Linny.”

His face immediately burns pink. “W-Well, um, th-thank you Hapi, b-but you don’t really need to uh—”

“Yeah Ashe is adorable,” Sylvain agrees, which only further embarrasses the boy, “but I think I can make a case for myse—ow! Ow ow!” He hisses as Ingrid yanks at his ear, glaring daggers at him. “Okay okay! Not the time and place! Got it!”

Dimitri sighs in exasperation. “Constance, Hapi, I deeply apologize for my friend’s behavior. For the longest time I have been trying to get him to stop, but nothing seems to work….”

“It’s okay, Didi. The guy’s horny, and like, I get it. We all have those moments, and anyone who says they don’t is a liar. Pretty sure everyone standing around right here has been at least once.”

Byleth notices some people look away, cheeks a little rosy or studying anything that isn’t another person.

_Is that really true?_

“_Thank_ you,” Sylvain says. “Finally someone—”

“Alright, hold on, Red.” Hapi puts up a hand. “That doesn’t mean you should just say whatever about the person who’s making you thirsty. Us women aren’t here to be a warm ho—”

“Okay I think that’s enough niceties for now,” Yuri starts. “We’re wasting time scolding the tom cat when we should be already on our way to rescue Aelfric.”

“Yeah.” Balthus nods, then gives Sylvain a hard stare. “I’m big on the ladies too, so sure I can understand—to some extent. But if you talk about Constance and Hapi like that again, you’ll end up a little black and blue, pal. I promise ya that.”

“I concur to inflicting a punishment,” Constance says, “but there is no need to be such a brute, Balthus. I shall mete out consequences myself by simply turning him the actual color of blue, should he continue to speak of me as if I were a harlot.”

Fixing her hair, she continues, “And Prince Dimitri, you can apologize for Gautier’s behavior by helping us return Aelfric home safe and sound.” She hops onto her pegasus, but doesn’t command it to fly just yet. “Let us cease our lallygagging and sally forth! Professor, please lead us into the fray, if you would be so kind!”

Byleth has them all organized into a line of two with her and Yuri at the forefront. As they walk, she says she’s almost 100% certain that they’re going to have to fight the kidnappers. But she also assumes their numbers must not be too big if they explicitly said in the ransom note to not involve the Knights of Seiros.

Still, she sees from the shadows Jeralt’s mercenaries lurking about. Very quietly she alerts the rest of her class so they’re not startled and try to attack them.

The forest eventually opens up to an abandoned settlement. Nothing but ruins, really, with almost all of the buildings missing their top half. Yuri walks ahead when he sees a gang of rogues which she guesses must be the kidnappers. Among them, with his hands tied behind his back, is Aelfric.

“Wait here,” she tells her class. “And stay vigilant.”

She and the students who originally went down with her to Abyss, plus the other three Wolves, catch up to Yuri as they walk toward their foes. Constance holds onto the bag at her hip where she’s placed the chalice.

Hapi makes a comment about Balthus, saying if he really should’ve come along because of his size and appearance. “They might think you’re a knight.”

“You saying I’m old, pal?” he asks in an annoyed tone.

“She’s not wrong, Baltie,” Hilda agrees. “You’re years older than all of us here, even the professor.”

“How old are you anyway?” asks Byleth.

“That ain’t anyone’s business, if I gotta be frank.”

“Ah, I don’t mean to be rude,” Ashe speaks, “but for a while I did think you were a knight.”

“I must confess that I had similar thoughts,” admits Dimitri a bit sheepishly.

“Well,” Edelgard clears her throat, “if I may, you make my retainer Hubert look like a spring chicken. And seeing you two in close proximity today does solidify that… observation.”

“Just—all of you can it, will ya? Don’t forget you’re speaking to the _Ageless_ King of Grappling. Besides, I’m wearing the school uniform. No way in hell they’ll think I’m a knight.”

Yuri shakes his head. “Right, because obviously, anyone wearing a school uniform _has_ to be a student.”

When Ashe asks who made the uniform, Yuri tells him Aelfric had them commissioned. He was also the founder of the Ashen Wolves House, years before any of them wandered into Abyss. The man wanted expelled students—regardless of reason—to have somewhere to belong. A caring and empathetic individual, through and through.

“That’s why I wanna rescue Elfie,” Hapi says. “He’s done so much for us. Gave us a home.”

“So there it is.” Balthus nods. “We owe Aelfric a lot. And this is one debt I can definitely pay back in full.”

Yuri smiles at his wolves, and then says to Byleth, “Sorry to have roped you into this, friend. You and your class.”

“I don’t mind,” she replies. “If it’s for my students, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re all taken care of and accommodated. I won’t spare any effort.”

Constance gives a light gasp, and says, “You… You already consider us your… your pupils?”

“Oh, well… yeah. While you four aren’t officially on my roster, I guess I already see you that way. Even if you don’t end up joining my class at the end of everything. Seeing you together with my enrolled students, it’s easy to imagine you sitting in my classroom. Even you, Balthus.”

Balthus laughs. “Man, now I wish I hadn’t already graduated! You’re a real upstanding professor, Byleth. You know that? On paper and in practice.”

“Teach really is the best,” Claude agrees. “But it’s a mutual relationship. That’s why us students need to be considerate of her, so having too man—”

With a shout, Balthus cracks his knuckles. “This is great! Has me all riled up and ready to start hitting things. Let’s go over there and kick some ass!”

He walks ahead with Hilda trailing behind him, saying not to be reckless. The others follow, leaving Yuri and Byleth in the back, a few paces away. He’s very quiet, looking to the ground in contemplation.

“A bullion for your thoughts?” she asks.

Yuri smiles only a little before it falls again, and his attention is focused on the ground once more. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve lived my life by one rule: that I’d only play my hand if I was guaranteed victory. I’ve gotten this far by using my cunning by any means necessary—lying, cheating, even killing when there was no other way….”

“I don’t blame you for that. And if you’re wondering whether that affects how I see you, it doesn’t. Over the course of my time teaching, I’ve learned that more students than I thought have had it rough. But who you were back then doesn’t matter as long as the you of now makes up for it.”

He hums. “Thanks, but… this next play? Well, the odds don’t seem to be in my favor. Not unless…,” he meets her eyes, expression calm, “you trust me enough to provide me with an ace.”

“What do you mean ‘an ace’?”

Shaking his head, an amused huff escapes him. “I’m talking to myself more than anything, really. Don’t mind me, friend. Let’s just get going.”

The pair catches up to the others and advance to the forefront. They stop about six feet away from the group of rogues. The leader seems to be the one with dark brown cropped hair, cut in a similar style to Lorenz’s, but shorter. Beady brown eyes like a snake’s. Although, the armor he wears looks too polished and tailored for him to just be a simple thug. His cohorts around him look the part, but…

Laughing, the man says, “So, you’ve finally arrived. I didn’t think you’d take your sweet time! I was sure you would’ve come for your caretaker last night.”

“My flock! Professor—all of you!” Aelfric shakes his head, looking disappointed. “Why have you come?! You needn’t have taken such risks!”

“C’mon, you didn’t really think we’d just abandon you, did ya?” Balthus explains. “Especially after everything you’ve done for us. We’re here to save you!”

Byleth asks Constance for the chalice, and she slips it out of her bag. “Professor, do be careful.”

“I will.” When she holds up the artifact to the rogues, their eyes go wide, as does Aelfric’s.

“You—,” the cardinal starts, mouthing something jumbled, as if he doesn’t know what to say, “the chalice! You actually found it? When I told Yuri and the others of it, I never imagined that he would—”

With a ‘hmph’, the rogue leader reaches out his hand. “Let’s make sure it’s not a cheap imitation first. Hand it over, wench.”

“How dare you,” she hears Dimitri utter from somewhere behind her. She thinks she also hears the strain of steel. Her other students are glaring at this man, even Claude, his jaw tense. Edelgard is also giving a pretty frosty look in the rogue’s direction, which makes him flinch.

“Nope,” Yuri says, shaking his head. “Not until _you_ hand over the hostage. There needs to be some degree of a trusting exchange here.”

The man’s eye twitches, and his lip curls. With clenched teeth, he responds, “Clearly you don’t understand your own predicament. We’ve no issue killing the lot of you and taking it either way.”

_His speech is…_

_Yes, he does not appear to have come from humble origins. Could this be the noble who you all have been pondering about? The one assumed to have started the disruptions of Abyss in the first place?_

_Honestly I don’t care, but all signs are pointing to yes. Whoever this guy is, it’s clear he’s only noble in title._

_And it is for that reason that you must proceed with more fervent caution. You now have you entire class with you, Byleth. If this man has no qualms about killing children like yourselves, well…_

_I’ll take care of him, Sothis. He’s not going to harm anymore people today._

Hapi scoffs. “I can’t tell if this guy’s ears are stuffed with wool or he really is just that stupid.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Yuri comments with a grimace. “Thugs like this aren’t about to show anyone a single gesture of sincerity.” He unsheathes his sword, and the rogues do the same with their own weapons. “Hand over the hostage, like I said, and we won’t have to make ribbons of you on the dirt.”

Aelfric jerks forward, but a rogue yanks him back in place forcefully. He winces, then says, “Stand down, Yuri! All of you! Leave me! Take the chalice and flee—you must! My life does not outweigh your own! And such an artifact is irreplaceable! Do not hand over such a thing to these brigands!”

“Shut it old man!” one of the rogues says.

“You’re underestimating us,” Balthus says confidently. “We may be just a group of kids,” Claude side-eyes him, looking unimpressed, “but we didn’t come here without a plan should you shits decide to not cooperate. Alright Hapi, do your thing!”

“Do what thing?” the rogue leader asks, now looking concerned as he glances between them.

She gives him a wide-eyed stare. “_Here_, right now?” she hisses between her teeth. “B, this isn’t even what we talked abo—”

“Yeah _now_, Hapi!”

With a pout, she gives him a glare. “Fine fine fine! But I’m _not_ cleaning this one up. You better hope the thing gets full on these guys.”

Hapi takes a deep breath, and exhales.

Aelfric cries out in a panic before there’s an echo of wing flaps. The leaves of the trees begin to rustle, loudly, as if there’s a gale, and then a guttural roar travels through the sky. Byleth hears her students shout in the distance as an enormous bird with a long neck and patchy feathers flies their way from the distance.

It shrieks out a loud distorted _craw_ before it starts its descent down to where the rogues are clustered. And then the screams commence.

“What the _fuck_ is that?!”

“It’s so huge and—it’s got teeth in its beak?!”

“Where did that thing come from?!”

Yuri laughs. “That sigh never gets old.”

Hapi rolls her eyes. “Yeah whatever. Glad you like the show. Not like it’s a gift I asked for.”

The closer the monster bird gets, the more the rogues jitter on their feet, before they’re spreading away. The last one shoves Aelfric to the ground at their feet before he runs off as the bird starts to circle the area.

“Balthus,” Yuri says to him, “you’re the one who asked for the favor, so you clean it up.”

“Leave it to me, Boss,” he says, already running toward the bird as he equips his Relic onto his hands. He calls out to it to grab its attention, and it growls at him as it flies his way. “I got it all—,” as he swings to punch, the bird jerks away before using its talons to grapple with his gauntlets, “damn this thing is really—,” the bird caws, making an arch over him before grabbing his torso with one whole foot, “augh! This stupid—!”

And then it soars into the sky as Balthus thrashes around.

“Oh, wow.” Yuri blinks up at the creature as it gets smaller and smaller. “It flew off with him.”

Hilda calls after him in shock, and so do several other students. Byleth already sees Ingrid and Leonie beginning to mount their pegasi, but just as she’s making her way toward them, Yuri says, “Balthus will be alright. He’s dealt with monsters before.”

Constance helps Aelfric to his feet, and Hapi unties his wrists. He rubs at them, saying, “Oh, thank you for—but we’re still in such a predicament that I—”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Yuri says. “Just stay close while we take care of these thugs so they can’t hurt Abyss again.”

The rogue leader growls, taking his sword out. “Cheap party tricks! Do you believe those were all of the people I had at my disposal?!”

He calls out behind him, and two battalions of brigands and thugs rush forward. While he, in turn, hides himself among the masses. “Men! Let’s make these children _scream_!”

Byleth and the others run back to regroup so they can get into formation. She instructs Leonie and Ingrid to fly after the monster to return Balthus while the rest of them take care of things from here. Constance also follows on her pegasus, having more experience dealing with these creatures.

“Professor,” she calls, tossing her the bag, “I leave the chalice in your hands!” before she leads the girls away.

Bernadetta shrieks her disbelief at seeing another monster, but most of her students aren’t surprised at its existence. Just that it appeared so suddenly. Sylvain, however, is staring at the saddle of Nyx, mouth in a tight line.

“Sylvain, did you hear me?” Byleth asks, tapping his knee.

“Huh?”

“I said you’re in my formation.”

“Oh, right.”

Jeralt’s mercenaries run out of their hiding place as Byleth gives them orders, before everyone tackles their assigned cluster of foes. She takes the Sword of the Creator from her back. As much as she doesn’t want to use it, she refuses to go through a repeat of what happened yesterday.

But she tells herself that isn’t the reason why she picked Hilda, Linhardt, and Ashe to stay with her. Things will just… work better this way.

That’s all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constance to Sylvain: BEGONE, THOT
> 
> Uh... I decided to change the rating on this fic. Last chapter had a lot of gore, so I boosted it up to M as a precaution. Most of the story pre-timeskip, and even a good chunk of post-timeskip, will continue to be T+ though. I was indecisive for the longest time because there's a lot of slice of life between these graphic battles, so they don't happen often. And not every battle is going to get this treatment either; only the big ones I feel are important. But now I'm comfortable leaving it like this.
> 
> However, seeing as how the M rating became unavoidable because of the graphic detail of combat, I have more wiggle room now for... other things. That aren't violence-related. That are more _sensual_ in nature. I'm still firm in my decision to not write any sex scenes until post-timeskip. But the mini-arc after the Ashen Wolves one might... require this new M rating. Still several chapters away, but I figured I'd warn you all now just in case you'd rather avoid content like that! I will also warn for it at the beginning of the chapter it's in, too, so don't worry.
> 
> Yes, this _is_ related to future upcoming Claudeleth content. You folks like it when Claude suffers in shippy scenes? Well... it's going to keep happening. But that's all I'm saying. <strike>To entice you to keep reading. Lmfao</strike>
> 
> 😏
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	42. XLII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Rhea entrusts Byleth and the Ashen Wolves with the chalice after they convince her they'll rescue Aelfric from his kidnappers. The next morning, Yuri eats breakfast with Byleth in her room, which gives a visiting Dorothea the wrong idea again. She came to request to be Byleth's monthly assistant, and after getting the confirmation, she leaves. But Yuri had played along into being Byleth's secret lover, which annoyed her just the slightest bit. He then asks her out on a date, and she only agrees as a way to find out more about him for practical purposes. They then gather the class to tell them of their newest mission. Her students meet up with the Wolves, and after a short introduction between everyone, they head to the location specified on the ransom note. They find Aelfric, and the kidnappers who aren't keen on cooperating. After an impromptu monster summoning thanks to Balthus and Hapi, everyone prepares for battle to keep both the chalice and Aelfric safe.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XLII ⧽  
  
Motivations of Deceit

The battle is going a lot better than Byleth expected. Then again, they’re not being chased by enchanted metal dolls. She also has the full force of her class, and Jeralt’s mercenaries.

At some point, the aerial group sent to rescue Balthus returns. Ingrid looks a little shaken up, otherwise they all appear fine. Balthus has a bunch of tears on his clothes and a few healing lacerations, but nothing severe enough that stops him from barreling his way through the fray.

With her airborne students back, they have an easier time gauging how many enemies are left. Constance is consistently giving her updates as she blasts spells from the sky, and then shrieks that there’s yet another influx coming at them from every edge of the forest.

Yuri sticks his sword in the chest of one man before harshly pulling it out as his latest kill falls. “There’s too many of them,” he tells her. “And it’s not like the arena battle before where we had more help. Even with your father’s mercenaries…”

“What should we do?” she asks, keeping watch as Sylvain swipes his lance across the face of one enemy that was aiming for Ashe.

“I’ve got a plan, but you’ll need to call your students here to the center.”

She gives him a look. “We’ll be boxed in if we do that. Spreading them out into teams helps thin the battlefield so it’s not clustered.”

“And it’ll thin out even more with my plan. But your students may very well die if they don’t congregate here before then. I’d rather they not become collateral damage.”

“How would you even—,” she sees him glancing at Hapi, calling her over from where she blasted a heavily armored knight with a dark spell. Oh, so he’s going to… “Yuri, are you sure?”

“Your class handled Miklan when he turned into a monster, didn’t they? They can handle these weaker ones—if the bandits don’t kill the beasts first, that is.”

“I never told you about that,” she says carefully.

“No, you didn’t.” He flexes the hand adorned with the fetters. “But it wouldn’t be the first time someone unqualified tried to use a Relic. Took a guess, and your response tells me I’m right.” He looks over to Sylvain who just finished blocking an arrow with his shield. “And it’d make sense why his little brother still has yet to fully process what happened.”

While they are out here in the open, she doesn’t know if the summoned monsters will somehow attract more randomly. Noticing her hesitation, Yuri says, “You’ll have to trust me, friend. The monsters will still take damage from the goons trying to fend them off. They’ll be easy pickings afterward.”

“Fine. I’ll bring them back here.”

She runs into the chaos, all of her teams and father’s men being too spread out for word to travel quickly. The Sword of the Creator makes things easier as she whips it around to cut a path through to her students and allies. They’re confused when she says to retreat to the center where Yuri is—and some of her mercenaries even protest about that being a bad idea—but she tells them they have to if they want to survive the next phase of the plan.

It’s not easy rounding up everyone while enemies still try to attack them. Her archers and magically inclined students make the brunt of the effort, casting wide-ranged spells or shooting a variety of trick arrows that’ll stall until everyone is back together.

“Your mother would be proud of you,” Aelfric tells her when everyone has regrouped. “For not having prior teaching experience, you seem to know what you are doing now. I can see first-hand how much your class has grown.”

“Thanks, but I have to give them credit too. If they’re not willing to learn, then I can’t teach.”

He smiles. “Very true. Still, I’m sure Sitri is smiling down upon you.”

Aelfric pauses for a minute when Yuri gives Hapi the signal to summon more monsters. She sighs three times in succession. A few people in the class look at her in confusion, and others ask why she’s sighing so much and so heavily.

Then come the roars.

A large wolf-like creature jumps out from the forest at the nearest brigand cluster, distracting them, and a second appears on the opposite end. Then a bird monster swoops down from the east, catching a handful of people in its talons.

On the only side vacant of beasts, another group of brigands rushes after them. Byleth commands her mercenaries to engage as they sustained less injuries than her class. She needs this time to heal up her students. Yuri and Balthus help with their own spells, and so everyone is divided into small groups to be rejuvenated.

“Professor,” Aelfric starts, apparently unperturbed by human screams of terror as monsters feast on their meal in the background, “I understand that you did not know Sitri, but, I really do wish you could have met her. Grown up with her by your side, even if only for a few years.”

“There’s nothing to be done about that,” she replies after closing a wound on Petra’s thigh with her Heal spell. “My father did his best to raise me on his own.”

“Of that I have no doubt. But I—apologies, it is just,” he smiles wide, “I cannot believe how much you resemble her. Slight differences in your facial structure—likely from Jeralt, but you still have that same ethereal beauty. Even the frame of your body is quite similar. Then there’s that serene grace, and gentle touch when you heal your students. Like an angel. It… It takes me back.”

Well, this is… weird. She doesn’t like that fond expression on his face. Her students can compliment her looks and she won’t care one way or another. But, the way _he’s_ gazing at her—through her, almost, it’s a bit unsettling. Maybe it’s the age difference.

“Um, thanks.”

He shakes his head and blinks out of whatever memory distracted him. “Oh, I did not intend to make you uncomfortable. Please, forgive me.”

“It’s… fine. But if you can help heal the others, that’d be great.”

“Yes, of course.”

Aelfric busies himself healing injuries that the mercenaries come to him for once they’ve taken care of their slew of trouble. Byleth turns behind her to see—much like Yuri said—the enemy numbers have been greatly thinned. There’s nothing left except a few stragglers. The monsters also have several injuries, with lances and arrows sticking out from their hides. There are also ruined patches of fur or feathers along their bodies, likely from magic spells. But their bloody maws with fabric and entrails hanging from them tells her they don’t seem to mind too much.

The ground beneath them is a wide expanse of crimson and corpses. Some still intact, but most are dismembered. She notices many of her students pointedly look away—Bernadetta especially, as she hides behind Raphael. This seems to be a common response of hers now out on the battlefield.

“We’ll handle the monsters,” Yuri says, wiping some blood off of his blade against the fabric of his pants. “Get rid of that pesky noble who started all of this, will you?”

He doesn’t wait for her answer. Instead he takes the four Ashen Wolves with him to deal with the clean-up. Aelfric also goes, saying he knows how to handle them quickly.

But seeing as the only cluster of enemies left is the group around the rogue leader, Byleth says she’ll take care of it. “Leonie, Ingrid, if you can, help Yuri and the others deal with the bird monster. I think they can tackle the wolf ones on their own since they seem pretty sluggish now.”

“Alright, we’ll be back soon,” Leonie says, and Ingrid nods as they fly off.

“The rest of you, take this time to finish healing up. Stay alert, just in case there’s—”

“Professor?” Ignatz starts. He points ahead, “Edelgard is already going over there.”

“What?”

Sure enough, the princess herself and Hubert are tackling the last group of rogues all on their own. Byleth clicks her tongue and assertively instructs her students to not mimic her as she runs on ahead after them.

This is the second time Edelgard has gone off on her own. First with the Death Knight, and now this. Not that she needs much help since she just cleaves a path to the rogue leader with Hubert finishing off the others. But still. A little hypocritical since this is the apparent reason she didn’t inform Caspar of their mission in the first place.

As Byleth approaches, she hears the girl shout, “How _dare_ you disrespect House Hresvelg!” sounding the angriest she’s heard her yet.

“Hold a moment, Professor,” Hubert says, sweeping to her side as he blasts a Miasma spell over to the right at a charging cavalry. “Lady Edelgard can handle that man all on her own.”

“Why did she yell like that?”

He stares at her with a calculating eye. “I figure it’s for the same reason of earlier. She told me he called you a ‘wench’ when you first confronted him. Men like that resort to cheap aggressions when they no longer have any playable cards in their hand.”

The man in question now looks pale as he tries to block every heavy swing of Edelgard’s axe. She’s not as fast as someone like Felix or Claude, but one strike and it’ll be over for that rogue leader. Maybe he’s decided to go defensive instead of trying to slip through her blind spots.

Byleth helps out by taking care of any brigands that come her way, with Hubert handling the rest. And by the time they’re finished, the rogue leader is gone.

Edelgard shakes her head and walks back their way, cleaning the blood off the axe with a cloth. “Oh, Professor,” she greets, blinking when she realizes she’s there. “I didn’t know you followed me.”

“She was thoroughly occupied assisting in cleaning up the rubbish,” Hubert speaks for her, apparently, gesturing to all the bodies on the ground. “Did you manage to get rid of that ruffian, my liege?”

“He absconded when backed into a corner,” she replies, looking frustrated. “Mumbled something about not minding if he’s injured, but he’d like to live another day to enjoy the heaps of gold paid to him by his employer. Said his job was completed.”

“I am sure in time, he will be dealt with by circumstance.”

“Yes, I have no doubts whatsoever that he will.” Her expression relaxes, and then she looks at Byleth. “Professor, thank you for trying to assist me.”

“You keep running off on your own. I don’t want you to get hurt if it can be avoided.”

Edelgard gives her a smile that’s slow to blossom, but there all the same. The slightest tinge of pink surfaces on her porcelain cheeks. “I will be more mindful from now on.”

She takes them back to everyone else, and Leonie and Ingrid return, their pegasi landing near their classmates. All of them look winded as some of her students slump on the ground, or lean against debris from the ruined settlement.

Yuri and the other three Ashen Wolves are in the far background chatting with Aelfric. They’re smiling wide and cheer at having him back at last. The cardinal is the first to notice Byleth as she approaches, and he gives her a warm smile.

“Professor, I cannot thank you enough for your bravery. That of yours and your class’. I wouldn’t have made it out of there alive otherwise. When I was kidnapped,” he sighs, shaking his head, “I tried to fight them off. But one of their mages cast a Silence spell on me and it actually hit its mark, so I could do little except try to run.”

“Don’t worry about it anymore!” Balthus says. “You’re safe and sound now.”

The man nods. “Yes, that is true. Ah, which reminds me—the chalice. Is it alright?” he asks Byleth.

She takes it out of its pouch that she had tied closely to her belt. It shines faintly from the overcast sky. “Yes, I made sure to keep an eye on it. It’s still in one piece.”

“Oh, thank the goddess. I don’t know what I would’ve done had it been damaged.”

It’s too late when she notices the look Aelfric sends over her shoulder.

“Nighty _night_!”

Byleth swerves out of the way as Yuri’s sword slices at the air where she was moments before. In her surprise and rapid movements, the chalice slips out of her hand for just a fraction of a second. But it’s enough time for Yuri to swipe the thing before she can catch it.

“Hey!” Balthus looks to him, brow furrowed. “What the hell are you doing, Yuri?!”

As Hapi opens her mouth to speak, three dark mages warp around them and ready spells in their directions. One of them casts a close-range Nosferatu on Balthus as the other two wrangle the gauntlets out of his grip and throw them on the ground.

Constance looks at them, and then to Yuri. “What… What is the meaning of this?! Do not tell me… our… our rat was disguising himself as a bird this whole time? I… I did not want to suspect, however, it did seem odd back in the tunnels that those men knew we had possession of the chalice.” Her expression falls, almost mimicking her dour mood when in sunlight. “This… This cannot be….”

“You always had a funny way of talking, Constance,” Yuri says with a grin. He walks over to Aelfric, and presents him the artifact. “There. Chalice retrieved, just like you asked.”

“Very good, Yuri.” He stows it away within a pouch that he takes out from his robes. “Let us not waste anymore time.”

The man signals to the three mages who then latch onto each of the Wolves and warp away one by one. The last thing she hears from them is Hapi’s, “Chatterbox!” before they’re gone, and Aelfric disappears with them.

Yuri is the only one left, staring at her with a neutral expression.

She feels… cold. Dread? No, pain, in her chest. Her stomach sinks, and she can’t help the tremble as she silently exhales, meeting his eyes.

“…Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

“They’re… They’re your friends. All of this because of you and Aelfric—I trusted you! They trusted you! My class—you…!”

It’s the loudest she’s ever heard herself raise her voice, but Yuri doesn’t even flinch. She wants to yell at him, that all of this trouble they went through… what was it even for? Linhardt, Hilda, and Ashe had to die needlessly because of this mess—and they would’ve_ stayed_ dead had it not been for Divine Pulse. Claude too almost—but no, she can’t tell Yuri that. Even if she could, would he care?

“You did trust me. And I had to show it was mutual if I was gonna go after the chalice for Aelfric. But I’ve already said too much.” He sheathes his sword, and the fetters glow on his hand. “Don’t forget our date tonight.”

“_How_ can you even think I’d want to go on a date with you after this?”

“Remember,” he says as freckles of light glitter around him, “don’t forget. Not a moment before midnight. It’s extremely important you get there right on time. Should you not, well… then it might already be too late.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Smirking, he says, “You’ll figure it out. You’re my adorable ace after all,” before he disappears in the purple glow of the Warp spell.

Byleth picks up one of the Relic gauntlets that was left behind. The weapon is soiled with dry blood, and it’s the only thing she has left of the—her wolves. Maybe it’s presumptuous to think such a thing, but, she really was starting to see them as another one of her deer.

Should she try to use Divine Pulse to go back? To fight Aelfric instead? But she severely exhausted herself the last time she used it in succession. Would it be wise to try again so soon? Especially when she’s not fully rested right now?

“Teach!”

Claude runs up to her as does the rest of the class. “What happened?! We saw from afar that Yuri took a swing at you. You’re not hurt are you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she says, touching the spot where she should’ve gotten sliced. But only the fabric of her armor is cut. Not even a scratch on the surface of her skin.

“Are you certain?” asks Edelgard. “Surely you should’ve sustained some kind of wound. Don’t put on a brave face for our sakes.”

Shaking her head, Byleth replies, “No. Yuri… really didn’t hurt me. I know it looked that way but…”

Hilda eyes the gauntlet in her arms. “Professor, they took Baltie.” She picks up the second one, frowning. “And… the others—where…?”

“I don’t know. But the chalice, everything we went through, it was all so Aelfric could get his hands on it. He also kidnapped the other three Wolves. The look of surprise—betrayal on their faces when Yuri revealed himself to be the traitor is…”

“We’ll get them back, Professor,” Dimitri asserts. “Mark my words, we’ll bring them home alive and well. But for what purpose could Aelfric have wanted to kidnap them?”

Her class starts to throw out their own theories while others mention they shouldn’t have trusted Yuri in the first place. Now Aelfric will do goddess knows what with the chalice, and if he had to kidnap the other three, then their fates must not end well.

“While all of this could be plausible,” Linhardt starts, “I have another theory as to why they were taken. Remember those arcane symbols we saw back in the chasm?” Byleth nods. “Well after staring at them for so long, and trying to pick my brain for where I remember seeing them, I realized they came up during my Crest research. They’re the lost Crests of the Four Apostles: Aubin, Chevalier, Noa, and Timotheos. The very same who helped Saint Seiros make the chalice in the first place.”

Linhardt examines the Relic that Byleth is holding, and peers at the small alcove within it. Then he looks to the one in Hilda’s arms. “Ah, yes. These are Crest Stones with the sigil of Chevalier. Balthus wouldn’t let me look at them up close no matter how much I begged. Yuri wouldn’t let me examine the fetters either.”

“Are you saying…?”

Nodding, he replies, “I think our four lupine friends actually possess these lost Crests. There’d be no reason for Aelfric to want to capture all of them otherwise. But I’m still not sure what exactly he’d need them for. Since the chalice is only useful for the Rite of Rising, and the Four Apostles are the ones who performed it long ago, maybe…”

There’s the sound of clanking metal, and Byleth turns around, seeing knights rushing toward them. At the forefront is Rhea, who is surprisingly fast despite her flowing robes. When she reaches them, she’s a little out of breath, and the students all look stunned to see the normally groomed archbishop so disheveled.

“I…,” she starts, breathing hard, “I arrived as fast as I could and I—,” upon noticing the lack of Yuri and the other Wolves, Rhea makes a pained face, “oh goddess, Professor, I wish I had realized sooner.”

“Lady Rhea,” Edelgard speaks, “why have you come?”

“To inform you all to be wary of—oh but it is too late now!”

Once she’s done catching her breath, she composes herself, wiping her bangs away. The headdress she wears is still entirely intact, surprisingly enough. How does it stay on her head? “I had someone look over the student records of Yuri and the others because something did not sit right with me in terms of how the chalice was retrieved. As it turns out, the information recorded about their Crests was falsified.”

“That makes sense,” Linhardt says. He tells her of his hypothesis, and Rhea nods grimly once Byleth confirms the Wolves were nabbed by Aelfric, along with the chalice. “Wait, I was… right?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I had come to the same theory just a while ago. All of this chaos orchestrated by Aelfric, so he could get his hands on the chalice, and the bloodlines of the Four Apostles.”

She reminds them of the Rite of Rising, that it was intended to revive the goddess. But the chalice itself, in general, can bring back someone who has already passed on. It’s not possible without the blood of the Four Apostles, however. It’s a rigorous ritual that needs to be done with extreme concentration and a substantially high quantity of their blood. It can also only be enacted within the monastery grounds.

“Is Aelfric trying to revive the goddess?” Ashe asks her.

“No, I do not believe so. The rite failed when it was performed, and so the Apostles and Saint Seiros sealed it away to never be used again. Whoever he is trying to revive… oh, we must find him immediately, otherwise we will have an absolute tragedy on our hands, and four lives will be lost.”

“Lady Rhea,” starts Dorothea in a small voice, “are you saying that… that they’ll be killed?”

She confirms with a solemn nod. “It is said part of the reason the rite failed is because the Apostles could not endure the strain on their bodies. They were on the brink of death after having so much of their blood drained. The difference between then and now is that they truly wanted to revive the goddess. They offered up their lives willingly, unlike these four children who have no idea of what is to come and never consented to such a thing in the first place.”

Dimitri grits his teeth, the grip on his lance tightening. “They’ll be sacrificed. After they believed Aelfric truly wanted to help them. This is beyond reprehensible.”

“Oh my….” Mercedes puts her hands to her mouth. “How awful. Lady Rhea, and you have no idea who Aelfric is trying to revive?”

“No, my child. And it does not matter in the end. The chalice can only breathe life into a body; it cannot return a spirit that has already departed. The goddess is omnipresent, but her flesh is no more. She would have been the exception.”

Rhea closes her eyes for a moment, and then looks to them all again. “But this person Aelfric is aiming to reanimate… whoever they are, they will not even become the individual belonging to said body. As I have said, records indicate the chalice has only been used once to revive the goddess. There is no telling of the effects that will occur should it be used on someone mortal.”

“Whoever this person is,” starts Lysithea, frowning, “they must be real important for him to sacrifice four people to bring them back.”

“This is why Saint Seiros told the Apostles to never pass down their bloodlines. It was to avoid a situation exactly like this one.”

More students try to ask further questions, especially Linhardt, but Alois runs up to them then and explains that there are hordes of thieves and brigands pillaging Mach Foothills. They came out of nowhere, and with a scowl, Rhea says it was most likely Aelfric’s doing with the intent of preventing them from spreading their forces to find him. She instructs Alois to leave only a few of his best knights with her while the rest go to the town and stop the chaos.

“What about us?” Byleth asks her.

Rhea eyes the gauntlet in her hand. “Head back to the monastery to recover. I doubt the thieves can get past the walls, and I would rather you all stay safe. You and your class have helped enough for now. But when I have further news, I will make sure to report it to you.”

She pauses, and then asks, “Professor, where did you get that… Relic?”

“It belongs to Balthus; they were left here. Yuri has a Relic too. One pair of fetters.”

“I see. Lost Relics for lost bloodlines. I will take possession of it for now. When young Balthus and the others are rescued, I will speak to him about how he came across such a thing.”

A part of her doesn’t want to hand them over, but she’ll be occupied trying to search for the Wolves. It’s better that the gauntlets are kept safe, away from potential thieves. So Rhea takes it, and the one from Hilda, saying they should all return to the monastery.

During their walk back, Byleth informs her class they don’t need to help her find Yuri and the others. Technically, he only requested their help with rescuing Aelfric. But her students respond that, at the very least, they’d like to rescue Balthus, Constance, and Hapi.

In a stunning turn of events, Hilda is the most adamant about it, albeit in a roundabout way. Says that it’ll make a poor letter to Holst about what’s been going on with her recently. But she can tell the girl is monumentally worried about her childhood friend, no matter how nonchalant she tries to act about it. Her frown and the crease of her brow look a little too deep to be fake.

“Where would we even begin searching?” Claude asks aloud. But he looks at her when he says it. “Any ideas?”

“No,” she replies with a shake of her head as she leads both Hapi’s horse and Constance’s pegasus by the reins up the mountain pass. “I don’t even have a faint clue. But… well, I feel like Yuri might’ve given me a hint.”

“I’d normally say that’s hard to believe. Then again, he didn’t actually hurt you, did he? Only pretended to swipe at you, even if he cut it a little close.”

“Like I said, I don’t think he aimed to harm me. Just startle me enough to grab the chalice.” Otherwise, he wouldn’t have exclaimed before he attacked her.

Felix had been quiet since the whole betrayal, until now. “Then he has another motive. Killing you would make things easier on Aelfric and him. But if he left you alive, and gave you a hint beforehand—”

“He has something up his sleeve,” Claude finishes. “Probably plotted against Aelfric while working for him.”

“And how would you even know that?” Felix questions, looking slightly annoyed. Maybe for having been cut off before.

“Because it’s what I’d do.”

Despite the questioning looks his classmates give him, Claude continues, “While I’m not criminally minded like he might be, the one thing we have in common is coming up with schemes. If I were him, and knew my rare blood was going to be drained until I died—and there was no way for me to get out of it—I wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

“I thought you were wary of him,” Byleth reminds.

“Oh I still am. But from what you’ve told me Teach, it seems more logical he was backed into a corner on all sides. Not saying I’ll trust him blindly, but weighing his pros and cons, he likely thought it was better to trust you in a last-ditch effort than continuing on obediently with Aelfric’s plans. The cardinal must have something big over him to convince Yuri from going against his orders directly.”

What could he possibly have though? Aelfric already kidnapped the other three Wolves. Could he have threatened Abyss with his power? No, maybe not. Yuri did say Aelfric established it several years before they were even in the picture.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” mutters Lysithea, “but I… agree with… Claude.” He gives her a smug look, but before he can open his mouth to tease, she adds, “He’s making a lot of sense. Yuri would’ve injured you significantly at the very least so you couldn’t go after them. But if he didn’t even give you a scratch, and also gave you a hint…”

“Professor,” Lorenz says from where he’s riding his horse beside them, “while these are all still assumptions—and loathe as I am to even _consider_ Claude has sound reasoning,” which makes the boy in question split a wider grin across his face, “I do believe Yuri intends for you to save them from this plot. What was it that you assumed to be his hint?”

“He asked me out on a date this morning, and I said yes.”

_That_ immediately draws everyone’s eyes to her. Claude looks more surprised than the others, and Sylvain sputters incoherently until he finds his voice again.

“Oh c’mon!” he starts. “A complete stranger asks you out—one who you’ve only know for a few days—and you say yes? But I try to ask you out every week—someone you’ve known for _months_, and you shoot me down every time?!”

“You’re a student, Sylvain. My student, specifically.”

“He’s also a student, even if not officially enrolled.”

“I wanted to get to know him better; he’s been very enigmatic since our introduction. I intended to see what kind of person he was before permanently involving him in our class.”

A strange look flashes in his eyes for only a second before it’s gone. “Are you saying you’re uninterested in getting to know one of your own little deer? I’ll make it worth your while, Professor. I promise you that.”

Despite the flirtatious wink he sends her, there’s something bitter to his smile, though she can’t place it.

_He’s not actually upset I keep rejecting his date offers, is he?_

Before he can argue further, or anyone else can throw in their own comments, she clarifies, “I thought it was weird he asked so suddenly. It also had a very particular time and place: the Holy Mausoleum, and right at midnight. No sooner, no later. He reminded me just before he fled, even when I told him he has some nerve thinking I’d still agree to the date. But he ignored it, and told me to remember. Said if I came any later than exactly at midnight, it’d already be ‘too late’. Yuri also called me his ‘ace’.”

“Do you think that’s where Aelfric is hiding?” asks Ignatz. “Lady Rhea said the rite can only be performed within monastery grounds.”

“But the mausoleum has been heavily guarded since it was attacked,” offers Annette. “Unless Aelfric knows a secret entrance, or something?”

“There’s a lot of guessing going around,” Claude starts, looking as calm as ever, “but I’m inclined to believe now more than ever, that Yuri really does plan on stopping Aelfric, especially if he thinks you’re his ticket to freedom, Teach. So, what do you wanna do?”

She wants to rescue the Wolves more than anything else right now. As for whether or not she’ll trust Yuri in the future, that’s up in the air. But, looking at it objectively, she can’t say she disagrees with Claude’s assessment. Yuri is more than capable of holding his own against her if he really wanted to dispose of her. But he called her his ace, and reiterated their date, no matter how obviously against she was on going out with him.

Byleth throws out the idea to ask the guards at the mausoleum to check the contents inside. Claude offers his counterargument that they could be in cahoots with Aelfric, seeing as how he _is_ a cardinal and everything. They could alert him, and he’d take the ritual somewhere else. One where Yuri is incapable of giving them further hints. Their best option is to simply wait until midnight before going over there. At least Aelfric won’t know that they’re on to him.

While she’s still unsettled, and feels useless doing nothing, that’s exactly what she’s told to do once she and her class return to the monastery. All of them heal up properly in the infirmary where Manuela—and a good chunk of Garreg Mach—has already heard about what’s going on. The woman complains about powerful people using mere children for their plots, saying they deserve whatever’s coming to them.

Once everyone has been looked over, Byleth tells her class to relax meanwhile and polish their weapons for the fight tonight. To take a nap so they’re well-rested. Eat plenty, because they’re going to need all of their energy for—what she hopes is—the final fight in this mess.

Most of her own time is spent drafting out different formations on paper with the students she’ll have to accompany her. Jeralt’s mercenaries will also be available, they said, to see this through. Not like they’ve gotten a lot of action lately.

They’ve been holed up in the battalion guild more often than not. One, because it was promised they’ll at least have sleeping quarters—courtesy of Rhea—when they’re not on the job. And two, because it’s a hub for work since Jeralt is permanently rooted to Garreg Mach until further notice.

She takes into account of hiring a battalion of priests and nuns to heal their ailments while they fight, and maybe some cavalry to sweep through the mausoleum quickly. Though when the ink blots on her papers start looking like chocolate drops, she decides she might as well eat her fill to hold her over for the long night.

As she heads to the dining hall, she notices a lot more knights roaming about. A higher number than what she saw when she first got back. Which would make sense to patrol the monastery in this current situation. But when she sees her father among them, she realizes these are the troops who went to settle things in the Western Church.

“Father,” she greets when she’s close enough. “When did you return?”

“Hey, kid. Just got here about an hour ago.” Giving a heavy sigh, he says, “And I heard about what happened with Aelfric from Rhea herself. Says she wants my help. Apparently a lot happened while I was gone.”

“Yeah, lots of things did. This is actually part of my class’ monthly assignment—although we didn’t expect it to extend to this. I have some things figured out already on how to proceed, though I’d like to talk to you about Aelfric himself. I know the bare minimum about him. Maybe more will help us figure out who he’s trying to revive with the chalice, if not the goddess.”

He looks at the dinner line which is quickly filling up. “Talk it over with me while we eat. I didn’t know Aelfric well, but putting our heads together might still help matters.”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  


It was almost too easy to fool Byleth.

She’s so trusting, no matter how shrewd her words are sometimes. Helped them without properly looking into their history. Got her class involved to assist. Risked their lives to help people with nothing to their name. Even considered taking the four of them under her wing.

So maybe that’s why Yuri can’t shake off the look of betrayal Byleth gave him. Why the guilt claws at him from his ribs and out. But, if he’s read her correctly, she’ll at least try to rescue Balthus, Hapi, and Constance.

They’ve been knocked out for hours to prevent any resistance. Arms tightly bound behind their backs. They lay on the mausoleum floor like a presentation of snared game. It’s Yuri’s job to watch over them while Aelfric gets everything ready for the rite.

Candles are placed all around the floor as far as the eye can see. Aelfric’s apostates are lighting them, one by one. A tedious task, considering how big this tomb is. Yuri would’ve pointed out they could just use fire spells to light everything at once. But he’s not in a hurry to die via righteous exsanguination.

And that’s why, if he _has_ to die today, he’d at least want it to be by Byleth’s hand after she’s rescued the others and stopped Aelfric. At least she’d make it swift. More than a wretched soul like him deserves, but he’ll allow himself to be a little selfish in his final hours, if this is truly where his heart stops beating.

He hopes he’s played his cards right though, and Byleth truly is the ace he’s cast from his fingers onto the table.

Hapi is the first one to stir. She blinks her eyes open, adjusting to the dim lighting. “Where…,” she looks over to Constance and Balthus, who are also beginning to wake up, “the heck are we?”

“Morning, sleepyheads,” Yuri greets. “Or is it a good evening?”

Constance is the first to glare at him. Wiggling in her restraints like an inchworm as she struggles to sit up. Once she does, her glower is locked on him. “You _absolute_ scoundrel!”

Gone is the sadness from her initial shock, leaving her nothing except rage, it seems. “A man such as the likes of you is unfit to speak to us, liar that you are! You have deceived us—deceived Professor Byleth, even when she so willingly offered her help! Risked her life and those of her students alongside us!”

Yuri rolls his eyes, flapping his fingers at her like a mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Liar liar pants on fire. Blah-blah. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

She scoffs dramatically, but before she can continue her rant, Balthus shoots up to sit after struggling for a few seconds on the ground. His heated stare is on him, teeth clenched tight. “Look, _pal_. Enough beating around the bush. What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?” He glances around, brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s with all the candles? The hell are you and Aelfric plotting?”

“Questions, questions. You’re wearing me out, Balthus.” Yuri inspects the tip of his blade, twirling it lightly along his fingers. “Fine, I’ll lay it out for you. The short and sweet version? You’re all going to be sacrificed.”

At that, their eyes go wide, more so Constance’s. Yuri continues, “The long version? Aelfric intends to reenact the Rite of Rising. He’s preparing everything as we speak.”

“Seriously?” Hapi frowns. “So all of this trouble, all of this work, was for some stupid rite? Does he really want to do some crazy magic to raise the dead or whatever?”

“Actually, yes.” Yuri idly swings his sword around in the air, not looking at them. Just watching how the edge of the metal cuts through nothingness. “The Four Apostles used their blood to do this ritual. But it failed, ‘cause there wasn’t enough of it offered. That’s what Aelfric concluded anyway. My gut’s telling me Saint Seiros didn’t want them to lose their lives over it.”

He finally faces their glaring expressions. “Aelfric’s extreme persistence is how he found all of us. Gathering our quartette into Abyss wasn’t coincidence. Placing us in the Ashen Wolves House, gaining our trust, pretending to care—all of it was to ensure a successful ritual for the Rite of Rising down the line.”

Constance is the first to say, “You mean to tell us that he intends to drain our blood? To _kill_ us?! Such an act merits no forgiveness whatsoever! It’s an absolute atrocity! He led us to the slaughter, and you, Yuri, were his shepherd dog!”

She spits at his feet, never once tearing her glare away from him. “I cannot and _will_ _not_ die in this wretched _hovel_!”

“Yeeeah,” Hapi drawls, also glaring but not as frostily. He wonders if she feels the most betrayed of them all. She’s always been the least trustful of others, besides himself, “that sounds painful… and permanent. Count me out.”

She stares at him for a second more, glare relaxing just a little. “Hang on. If he needs the blood from our Crests, that also includes you. Aren’t you gonna die too?”

“Yep,” he replies, popping the ‘p’. “That’s the idea.” A terrible idea, really, and one he doesn’t intend on actually going through with. But he’ll have to play along for a while more, until his final card is face up. Which, he hopes, actually delivers.

Balthus, surprisingly, is the one to look the most hurt. He shakes his head, frowning deeply. “And here I thought we were friends. Turns out you were just skulking around behind our backs, putting on a charming face for us the whole time. Hurts, Boss. Hurts bad.”

Like a flick of a wrist, the rage he’s kept contained starts to bleed into his expression. “You wanna die that badly, fine. I’ll kill you myself. Wipe that cocky-ass grin off your mug and face me, fist to fist.”

Yuri points the blade at him. “Shut it,” he snaps. “I’ve been through a hell of a lot worse. Even if you don’t know the whole me, you really think the me that you do know—the one who’s clawed his way through the muck and piles of shit—_actually_ wants to die? Especially like this?”

“Then _why_ the fuck are you throwing your life away for Aelfric?!”

“Some things are more important than my own life,” he replies honestly, softly. “Some things are worth protecting.”

“Just stop with your cryptic bullcrap and make some sense! Give me a straight answer!”

Footsteps behind Yuri has all of them peer around him to find the source. Aelfric steps close, the flickering lights of the candles drawing deep shadows along his face.

“It would seem that you want to be punished severely, Yuri.”

A bitter grin curls on his lips as he turns to him. He sheathes his sword and says, “That some sorta threat?” Yuri shakes his head in mild annoyance. “There’s not much you can do to me that hasn’t already been done. I’m not the kinda guy to easily cower in fear, no matter who steps into my space.”

“True,” he agrees simply. “You took flight from the mud and grime into which you were born and rose to such great heights. An enduring spirit, one that is difficult to break. It would take far too much effort, a kind that I am not willing to spend my time on.”

The lines of his forehead scrunch as he sends his best intimating stare his way. He’s not actually good at being villainous, no matter how hard he tries. Yuri thinks, once upon a time, Aelfric’s actions might’ve been genuine. He really did establish Abyss to protect the weak. But whatever new ambition he became enraptured by, he was clearly bribed enough to let wolves into the sheep’s enclosure. Making sure the four fattest of his flock were spared for his own consumption.

On the off chance they both somehow see tomorrow, Yuri doubts he’ll ever be able to look at the man the same way again. He’s the whole reason why he was forced down into Abyss in the first place. Even from the get-go, Aelfric had already picked his primary lamb to raise from prey into predator of his own kind.

To become a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Though, if I must,” he starts, never taking his poisoned gaze away, “I _will_ kill your mother in addition to your dear people. Do not forget that.”

Without even looking at him, Yuri can tell it strikes a nerve in Balthus. As boisterous as he is, he’s still a gentle enough person to sincerely cherish and love the maternal half of his parentage. Maybe, out of all of them, he’ll at least understand—even a fraction—why Yuri had to stoop this low.

He feels more than sees his glare shift to sear into Aelfric’s side.

“Oh, so that’s it. You were trying to protect your mom.” The end of his sentence hangs in the air, maybe deciding against giving a slight console of understanding. Instead he focuses his attention on Aelfric, scowl ever present on his face.

Constance, instead, breaks the silent tension. “Precisely _what_ is it you hope to gain, Aelfric, from exhausting our lives for your accursed ritual?”

The man relaxes just a bit as he regards them. “To resurrect someone I cherished quite deeply; a person I lost long ago. And I will go through with this, regardless of the cost. Surely, someone as ambitious as you, Constance, would do the same for those whom you held close to your heart.”

While her expression is still sour, she hesitates responding just long enough that it causes a shadow of a smile on Aelfric’s lips.

“…Perhaps. Even so, I have grown with my companions side-by-side for long enough that I can confidently say we would never annihilate those we care for in the present! And how could _you_ do such a wretched thing, Aelfric?! A man of the cloth, ones who Abyssians—_we_ looked up to! It was you who sent those mercenaries into our haven, was it not? To distract us while you tried to search for the chalice, and had Yuri there to make sure we would not wander into your path. We trusted you!”

He regards them coolly, expression blank. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do, no crime I would not commit, nobody I wouldn’t trade, to see the light in her eyes once more.”

From the shadows, four of his mooks slowly carry over an embellished coffin covered by an elaborate cloth over its surface. They set it down just a few feet away from him, asking if this is where he wants them to put it. Aelfric doesn’t answer them. Just smiles as he approaches it.

The cloth is removed in a gentle flourish, left to flutter on the ground. The glass covering is crystal clear, revealing a woman with long green hair, adorned in a pure white dress. Her hands are folded atop her chest. Fitting for someone who’s dead. But what’s weird is how she… doesn’t even look rotted. Her milky skin is still smooth. No sunken cheeks or weirdly colored flesh.

Something about her seems… familiar.

Aelfric brushes his hand along the glass surface, looking down very fondly at the woman. So… happy. In some far recess of his mind, Yuri can understand wanting to bring a loved one back to life. But the bigger, more rational part says the dead died for a reason. No matter how stupid the reason is, no matter how unfair or how painful, they’re still dead. Gone. Forever. Trying to bring them back, well, something’s bound to go wrong.

And he refuses to trade his breath in order to give someone he doesn’t even know a chance to breathe again.

“Woah,” Balthus starts, shattering the silence. His wide eyes are stuck on the pristine corpse ahead of them. “That lady looks real dead, pal.”

“She is,” Aelfric says, not taking his eyes away from her, “for now.” He continues to stare with that content expression on his face, lost in whatever memories are clouding his judgement. “My dear Sitri… soon you will return to me, and I can see you smile again.”

His own smile disappears as he tells his goons to lay out the cloth along the altar. Turning to the Wolves, he says, “The ritual will begin shortly. It will be a long process, and I will not tolerate any disruptions.” And then he removes the glass lid of the coffin.

“Who is that?” asks Hapi, suddenly, as Aelfric tenderly gathers this Sitri into his arms. “And why… why does she kinda look like Chatter—look like Byleth? A lot like her, actually.”

Oh, so _that’s_ the resemblance he couldn’t put his finger on before.

“Astute observation, Hapi,” Aelfric replies. “She appears as a mirror to the young professor precisely because, well, she is in fact, her mother.”

Even Yuri can’t help the surprise that crosses his face.

When Aelfric sees it, he almost grins. “I can tell you all since you will not be around much longer. Sitri died in childbirth almost twenty-one years ago now. But then why is her body so pristine? It hasn’t rotted even a little. She looks exactly as how I remember her.”

He inches closer, smiling even wider, looking like he wants to cry, at he gazes at this woman’s face. “Young Byleth has no idea I am doing this, and I am sure the surprise she will get—the joy she will experience to having her mother returned and the future of spending time with someone she didn’t get to know, will at the very least, go a long way to her forgiving me of what I am about to do. Sitri was beloved by all, including Archbishop Rhea. She will bring sunshine even on the cloudiest days.”

When he places a soft kiss on Sitri’s forehead, Hapi makes a face like she smelled something rotten. “Byleth doesn’t even know her,” she argues. “She’ll find us—I know she will, and she’ll stop you. We’re her…,” she pauses, swallowing, “we’re her students, and she cares about us.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that she does. But a love for a parent is far greater. She can be a family again with her father Jeralt and with her revived mother. Your sacrifices will not be in vain.”

“You’re not doing this for Byleth though,” Balthus points out. “She has no damn clue you dug up her mom to revive her for… what? She’s got her dad. People don’t always need both parents to be a happy family, y’know. You’re just making up excuses at this point, Aelfric, for whatever twisted reason you’ve convinced yourself of.”

“The way you gaze upon the corpse,” Constance cuts in, “is one of a lover. Were you infatuated with this woman in the past? Are you bitter she chose Sir Jeralt over you? Because I cannot see any other reason in this context for you to go to such extreme lengths! Even if you are successful, for all you know, she will go back into the arms of her husband. Nary a thought for you, someone who is—”

“_Silence_,” he hisses. “That isn’t the reason I am doing this.”

“Sure seems like it,” Yuri remarks, arms crossed.

Aelfric casts a glare his way. “I won’t discuss this further. Midnight is almost upon us.”

He nods over to his legion who force each of the Wolves to walk their separate ways. As the one holding Balthus forcibly escorts him to his spot, Yuri notices how loose the restraints are getting around his wrists. The stupid henchmen don’t seem to share this observation, but he’s probably been trying to break free this whole time.

Unlike Constance and Hapi, he’s got metal chains binding him aside from the ropes. Some of the loops look strained, like if he’d been tugging on them little by little. As much of a meathead as he can be, Balthus is pretty crafty in his own right.

Hapi looks dejected as she’s led away, while Constance just fidgets and squirms as a Silence spell is placed on her. Even if they all somehow manage to get free, there are too many enemies in the mausoleum for the four of them to handle alone.

Yuri shrugs off the hand on his shoulder from one of the mages. “Don’t touch me, unless you wanna lose an arm. I’m going.”

He’s taken to the edge of the mausoleum on the second tier, just a few feet away from Balthus. An arcane symbol with the Crest of Aubin is drawn on the ground. He steps into it, and the mage tells him to just sit since he won’t be able to do anything anyway.

“I’ll stand, thanks,” he replies pointedly, leaving no room for arguing. The goon only huffs at him.

Aelfric places Sitri on the altar and then plucks a hair from her head. He steps back, holding the chalice up, and drops the strand into the cup. Then he starts to recite the passages for the Rite of Rising. Once the chalice begins to glow orange, he gives out a command.

One Yuri wasn’t privy to before, and that’s how he finds his forearm suddenly slashed with a blade hidden in the sleeve of his keeper. The other three simultaneously get sliced the same way, and then the dagger is held over the drawn Crests below them. Each mage taps the blade with a finger until a drop of blood falls onto the circle. Then the runes start to glow.

Purple particles of light merge with his blood—their blood, as it slowly rises out of their bodies. Like thin crimson snakes slithering to the chalice. They swirl above the cup before pouring just a tad of their blood, each taking a turn at a steady rate.

Even if Yuri disrupts it, even if he takes his own life, Aelfric will still kill his mother once he’s dead. He told him as much before, to not get any bright ideas. At the time, he thought the cards were completely stacked against him from the beginning. But he got one lucky draw. One he intends to play to its fullest.

That’s the whole point of an ace. For your opponent to be unaware of the final trick up your sleeve. And maybe it’s because he’s out of options that he has no choice but to go against his own reservations and trust someone still so new to him. Even if she holds a grudge against him now—even if she never trusts him again, he hopes her compassion isn’t limited. Hopes that, in the time that she’s gotten to know them, she’ll at least come for the other three. Prays that she understood his true intentions of their ‘date’.

Even if his punishment is death after all of this, he’ll at least go out knowing his mom and his old gang will be free from Aelfric’s clutches. That the three friends he made in Abyss will take another breath tomorrow.

_Byleth, if you’re the kind of woman I think you are—the kind of person that makes your students adore you so much, you’ll find us in time. Because even if this ritual works, my gut’s telling me Sitri’s not gonna come back in the way that Aelfric hopes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <strike>Is it obvious that I don't like Aelfric because I think he's creepy LMAO</strike>
> 
> When I first got to this part, I kinda slightly saw it coming that Aelfric was somehow shady. But I was more surprised to find out Yuri, of all people, was his cohort. Though not intentionally since he was forced into it. It also took me a while to understand the whole "date" thing because I'm slow sometimes at reading cues and I'm also not the best at analyzing more meticulous things like this in fiction even if I try my best. Lol
> 
> Can't believe this dude's really out here trying to sacrifice four kids just to bang Byleth's dead mom.
> 
> Possessed Takumi voice: I. AM. BETRAYAL--okay well, unless you've played _Fire Emblem Fates: Conquest_, that reference might not make sense. 😅 Just know that Takumi in FEH and FE Warriors is dubbed by the same person who voices Aelfric in 3H. Funny how that works. (I'm now going to take a moment for myself to cry over Takumi because he's my second favorite character in FEF.)
> 
> How was Yuri's first POV? I had fun writing it so he'll probably get a few more throughout this work. Hope I got into his head accurately enough that it sounded believable.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	43. XLIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> The cast rescues Aelfric and fend off the rogues who held him hostage. When Byleth goes alone to speak with him and the Ashen Wolves, Yuri attacks her and takes possession of the chalice. The other three Wolves are kidnapped by dark mages that Aelfric has at his disposal, revealing himself to be the perpetrator of this whole Abyssian conflict all along. Yuri is his accomplice, and despite how enraged Byleth is at him, he still tells her to meet him at their date spot come evening. Soon after, Rhea approaches them all and tells them she surmises Aelfric plans to sacrifice the four students to reenact the Rite of Rising, as they each have a lost bloodline from the Four Apostles. After some collaboration, Byleth decides to go to the appointed "date" she planned with Yuri once Claude suggests the former is most likely double-crossing Aelfric in secret. Later, Yuri endures the anger from the other three Wolves, and finds out Aelfric's objective is to revive Sitri, Byleth's mother. It makes him hope Byleth really turns out to be the ace up his sleeve before it's too late.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XLIII ⧽  
  
Sitri

In the privacy of her father’s office, Byleth tells Jeralt everything that’s happened since discovering Abyss. The Ashen Wolves, the danger they went through to get the chalice, that Aelfric was the mastermind behind it all, and Yuri was his spy. Deceiving everyone, at least at first. She brings up Claude’s hypothesis and the hint Yuri gave her—feeling like the ‘date’ was just a disguise out of precaution, should Aelfric catch wind of his plan.

“Good grief,” Jeralt sighs deeply, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Ever since we came to the monastery, it’s just been one thing after another. Your class somehow always gets involved in crap like this, and you’re expected to clean up other people’s messes.”

“Except this time, I want to do it. They’re in danger, and they’ll die if we don’t save them.”

His hand slips to cover his mouth as he stares at her. Then he says, “Can’t believe Aelfric would do this. I was never close to him, but he was a good friend of your mother’s.”

She’s hesitant to tell him this next bit, but it’s been bothering her ever since it happened. “Earlier today, he complimented me strangely.”

“Like how?”

“He said I was ‘ethereally’ beautiful like Sitri. Kept comparing me to her. Even made a point to tell me we’re similar right down to our body shape. He was looking directly at me, but it felt like he wasn’t all there either. Like his mind kinda got lost in thought.”

Jeralt rubs his beard, and stares at a vacant spot on the table. He’s quiet for a while as Byleth finishes up her dinner. His expression starts off mildly angered, and she can only guess it’s because he dislikes hearing about how the cardinal had been eyeing her. But then it relaxes, and looks more pensive.

“Aelfric was in love with your mother.”

His focus is on the opposite wall, most likely revisiting those instances of his memory. “He never said anything—to either of us—but I could tell. The way he looked at her when he thought I wasn’t around… the sadness to his smile on our wedding day…. Sitri never noticed, and it wasn’t my business to disclose his secret. Didn’t want to make their friendship awkward. But even other people at the time kinda figured out his feelings, no matter how hard he tried to hide them.”

“Was there anyone else that was important to him?”

“Not that I knew of. Like I said, we weren’t close, even if he was a friend of Sitri’s.”

“Do you think,” she pauses, because it’s still a little farfetched to suggest it, but nothing else would make sense otherwise, “it’s her who he’s trying to… bring back to life?”

Something in her father’s stare hardens. Not at her, but at whatever thoughts immediately turned his mood sour.

“I want to think he’s better than that. Respected her choice to… sacrifice herself for you.” Before Byleth can apologize, Jeralt adds, “But I won’t throw that possibility out the window, either. Even if it is true, it’s been almost twenty-one years since she passed away. Her corpse would be…”

Nothing but a pile of bones. And what kind of existence is that, should the ritual work? Does Aelfric not care the revived Sitri would be an abomination? To live out however long she has this time as a skeleton? She’d never be able to go anywhere. Locked up forever, living every day with the risk of someone trying to kill her for being an unholy creature. Then there would be the smell…

_How ghastly. It fills me with dread and disgust to think a man’s love would curdle into such depravity._

_But it makes sense, no matter how grim. Whenever he talked about Sitri, he always looked so happy. Now I feel like whenever he saw me, he was just reminded of her. That first time we interacted at her grave, the amount of shock on his face…_

_If it is your mother he is trying to bring back, then this is all the more reason to stop him. I fear, just by what little we know of the situation, that reasoning will be useless against a man so consumed by his memories of a time that is no more._

_I’ll save them, Sothis. Before it’s too late._

_Yes, I have no doubt that you will. But please be careful, Byleth. I… I do not like this. It’s most unsettling._

“Kid,” Jeralt says after a pause, “lemme see those formations you mapped out.”

“They’re in my room; I’ll have to go get them. Are you… saying you want to give us a hand? Even with the possibility of…?”

“I’m not making any assumptions. But I still want to help however I can. No doubt Aelfric will pull out all the stops for this ritual. Maybe I can… even talk some sense into him. Try every option before having to fight him.”

And so they spend a good chunk of the evening going over the best formations she’s drafted. Byleth clues him in on all of her students’ strengths and weaknesses, in addition to accounting for the Wolves already being injured via exsanguination or some other method by the time they get there. That means they won’t be able to fight, and they might need experienced healers to take care of them while her class does the heavy lifting.

Jeralt goes with her to the battalion guild afterward to look for one filled with medics or healers. There are plenty to choose from, but they only hire the best their current budget can buy. The last thing Byleth wants is to rescue the Wolves, only for them to die soon after because of the blood loss. She considers asking Manuela to tag along, but when she goes to find her in the infirmary, the nuns say she’s currently at Mach Foothills helping to heal the injured from the surprise bandit attack.

Once their reserves are accounted for, Byleth returns to her room. Jeralt told her he needed some time alone, on top of having paperwork from his mission in the Western Church, but he’ll definitely meet up with her before midnight, along with the old crew. Sothis suggests she sleep for a while because she might not get a lot of it for the next several hours.

With nothing left to do, she decides to take her advice.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


At around 11 p.m. is when she wakes and gears up. Fifteen minutes later, the knock at her door has her buckle her last belt of her myrmidon armor and sheathe the Sword of the Creator in its scabbard on her back. Jeralt is there with the mercenaries when she exits her room, along with the battalion of priests and nuns they hired earlier in the day.

“You ready kid?”

She nods. “We just need to wait for my class now, and we can get going.”

The class, as it turns out, doesn’t stall, no matter how much she knows they want to be asleep right now. Linhardt is only half-awake as he’s being carried by Raphael. But at least he appeared at all in the first place. Dimitri and Edelgard also show up, along with Hubert, Dedue, and Ingrid. Dorothea tags along too, despite not being in the class; says she’s committed to being Byleth’s monthly assistant. Leonie in particular isn’t the least bit exhausted, especially after finding out Jeralt is going to help them.

“This all of ‘em?” her father asks her.

“Yes,” she says, as she does a mental headcount. “Is everyone ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be, Teach,” Claude replies. “Caught some z’s earlier, and ate my fill at dinner. I’ll be able to go for a few hours.”

The rest of the class agrees in their own ways, except Bernadetta who’s mumbling to herself behind Dorothea, and Marianne, who’s praying silently at the corner of the group.

“Professor,” starts Dimitri, “do you think we should’ve informed Lady Rhea of our whereabouts?”

“We can handle this ourselves,” Jeralt answers for her. “She’s probably asleep anyway.”

Byleth doubts that. And if she really is, then she’ll be alerted once they head into the Holy Mausoleum. Even then, they make a sight going through the monastery on their way to the cathedral. Clopping of horse hooves, clanking of armor, a whole cluster of boots tapping upon the stones. Patrolling soldiers ask Jeralt what’s going on, and he tells them about Aelfric’s assumed location. One of the knights shouts he’ll alert Rhea immediately, and Jeralt simply lets him go.

There are, in fact, two guards stationed at the doors to the Holy Mausoleum. When Jeralt states their business, they don’t move. Which can only mean they are indeed working for Aelfric.

“Look, we don’t have time to mess around,” her father says to them. They raise their lances at him, but Jeralt only moves forward. “This isn’t gonna end well for you or your boss. Telling you that right now. Drop the weapons, and I’ll let you off easy.”

When they still don’t budge, the mercenaries take out their own weapons, brandishing them idly. The guards look at the group, and eye Byleth’s sword hilt that peeks over her shoulder. With frustrated groans, they toss their weapons on the floor and hold their hands up in the air.

“Tie ‘em up, just in case,” Jeralt tells some of his men. “Take their lances too.”

With them out of the way, they continue onward through the large heavy doors. A strange humming sound reverberates louder and louder the closer they get to the bottom of the staircase. When they come to the large expanse of the mausoleum, it’s well-lit with a sea of candles all throughout the room.

And separated from one another, leaning against a pillar each in the far distance, are the Ashen Wolves.

Except for Yuri, all of them have their arms bound behind their backs. Streams of crimson flow out of them at a steady pace. It sparkles with purple and black flecks of energy, fading in and out as they glitter along the ribbons of… oh no, it’s already started.

“I have no idea what the heck is going on,” Hilda begins, “but it _doesn’t_ look good.”

“What on earth is happening?” Dimitri says with disbelief lining his tone. He steps forward, slowly shaking his head. “Is this—can this truly be the Rite of Rising?”

“Looks like their blood is being… drained?” guesses Linhardt. “Slowly at that too and—oh wow, that’s _a lot_ of blood. Too much blood. Oh goddess,” he makes a sound almost like lurching, and turns his head into Raphael’s shoulder, “I can’t look. Not right now. No no….”

Jeralt narrows his eyes when Aelfric’s hired help begins to descend the dais from where they were stationed. “Keep sharp,” he tells Byleth, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “We gotta work fast. These kids aren’t looking too hot.”

One of the nuns from their healing battalion says, “Lacerations on their arms and thighs, from what I can see if those… streams tying together from each of them really are their blood. He might’ve cut major arteries to increase the flow. Please, Sir Jeralt, Professor Byleth, we need to get to them _immediately_. With us not knowing how long they’ve been bleeding out, it’ll be too late to save them if we don’t hurry.”

“Alright.” He takes out his axe that was strapped to his back. “The gang and I will go ahead first,” he says to Byleth. “We’ll cut right down the middle. Meanwhile, split your class to the side aisles since that’s where those kids are.”

Byleth only nods, and then her father is off on Petunia to lead his men into the fray.

“Captain Jeralt in action!” Leonie exclaims. “Oh, I wish I could watch! Join him, even!”

“Don’t get distracted,” Byleth tells her. “Remember the formations we discussed on the way over here.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “Professor, I _know_ how dire this situation is. I’m not gonna lose sight of that.” She hops onto her pegasus, adding, “Just because he’s my mentor and my idol, doesn’t mean I’m so star-struck that I won’t do a good job.”

“That’s not what I was—,” but Leonie is already up in the air, waiting for her team to form below her.

Sighing lightly, Byleth splits her class into two groups. Dimitri is the leader of the other one, since she can’t trust that Edelgard won’t run off again. Instead she assigns her to him, and Hubert naturally comes along, in addition to a few others. Dedue and Ingrid also go off in that team, as they have more experience battling alongside the prince.

“Teach,” Claude starts, “we should consider just barreling through. Your dad’s taking the brunt of the work. If we wanna save these four pups, we don’t have time to wander or second-guess.”

“I know. I just… want everyone to be careful.”

Which makes traversing the mausoleum difficult with candles everywhere. She wonders if Aelfric did this on purpose just in case she came after him. Doesn’t matter now, though. She simply instructs everyone to put them out if they can so nothing catches on fire.

Balthus is the closest to her group when they advance further in. Byleth tells Claude to free him first while she goes after Yuri.

“Wait, you’re gonna leave me in charge of—?”

“Yes, because we can’t waste time,” is her only response before she’s whipping the Sword of the Creator forward, slicing one knight’s shoulder off as he cries out and falls onto the ground. There’s no time for mercy, not when four innocents are going to be sacrificed for some stupid ritual.

At first, a pale Balthus balks at her when she runs past him, “Hey, I’m right here! Where’re you going?! Oh, the whole gang’s—okay, I got it,” and just tells Claude to hurry up because he can’t move, “since I’m bleeding profusely, as you can see,” even though he managed to untangle himself from the ropes and chains around his wrists.

When she’s near enough to Yuri, one mage tries to attack her with a Miasma spell, but she cuts through it with her sword extended until it impales the man and he falls to the ground. Yuri gives her a crooked smile which looks more tired than anything. He’s crouching on the ground, no doubt too weak to properly stand up.

“You really came after all,” he says quietly. “I was right to trust you.”

“There’s a lot I want to say to you,” she says firmly, “but I’ll wait until this whole mess is resolved. Since you were in on Aelfric’s plans, do you have any idea on how to stop this?”

He weakly points to an arcane rune with one of the unknown Crests on it. His finger shakes a little as he does so. “See that? Tried to crawl away from it, but it didn’t do anything. Just keeps draining my blood, no matter where I go. But Aelfric was clear to his lackies that they not step into it, otherwise it’ll disrupt the flow, or something. That’s my guess.”

Byleth walks over to the rune, even though Yuri cautions her he doesn’t know exactly _how_ the flow will be disrupted. Or if she’ll be in danger. But if she doesn’t try, then she won’t know for sure. She places only one foot inside of it, but it’s enough that the stream of blood slipping out of Yuri starts to wobble. Drops of it begin to pitter-patter on the ground instead of being contained within its ribbon-like shape.

“No!” she hears Aelfric yell from some distance behind her. “You—someone stop her immediately!”

And naturally, she then steps entirely into the rune.

_Eat shit, Aelfric._

The light within the pattern drawn on the ground flickers and fades until it completely goes out. Yuri’s stream of blood stops pouring into the chalice, and whatever is left of it falls onto the ground in a _splat_, leaving a crimson trail that even gets on his clothes. He grins tiredly as he stands on trembling legs, supporting himself against the pillar he was crouched next to.

She grabs his arm, pulling it toward her, and uses a Heal spell to close up the wound, then doing the same to the cut on his thigh. She wipes the blood away with her sleeve, just to make sure they’re closed for real.

“Do you have any other injuries?”

“No, just the two.”

“Then drink this,” Byleth instructs, handing him a bottle of tonic that the healer battalion gave her. One each to every person in her class, and Jeralt. Something about it being a mixture filled with nutrients that they give to patients who’ve lost a lot of blood. Should help make up for it temporarily until the body can replenish itself or something.

Yuri takes it from her without question, downing it in one drink. From the face he makes, she guesses it doesn’t taste too good. “Thanks. Starting to get feeling back in my limbs.” He flexes the hand adorned with the fetters. “I think I’ve got enough energy in me to jump around and tell the others how to disrupt the ritual.”

She grabs his wrist firmly as he turns away. He meets her hard stare, and has the audacity to smirk. “You think I’m gonna bolt out of here and leave my friends to fend for themselves? Not my style. I’ll come back to your side soon enough. Just go after Aelfric meanwhile.”

He hurries to Balthus and Claude first, being that they’re close enough to get to without using his magic. He exchanges a few words with them. Claude looks at him skeptically until he meets Byleth’s gaze. She nods at him, and then he saunters into the middle of the circle with his arms behind his back. This causes the arcane drawing to flicker until the ribbon of blood flops to the ground.

Balthus gives a loud sigh of relief as he shakes off the loose restraints from his arms. Might’ve been too weak to keep going, probably. She sees Claude toss him the same tonic which he catches in his palm, uncorking the bottle with his thumb to then drink it in one go.

Knowing he’ll be in good hands, she makes her way further up the next set of stairs where more of Aelfric’s goons try to attack her with their blades or lances. Even against so many on her own, she cuts through them quickly. Spinning and ducking on light feet as the whip-like sword slices into anyone who dares to get too close.

Aelfric glares at her from where he stands, presenting the chalice upwards with both hands. He doesn’t move, not even as she gets to the last two steps before the highest point on the mausoleum dais.

“Professor,” he says loudly, having the nerve to look pained, “you would raise your sword against me? Do you not wish to see your mother? To meet her? You never got the chance, after all.”

It stops her ascension over the last two steps. Her eyes linger on the body resting where the sarcophagus of Seiros once was over a month ago. From this angle, she can’t see the figure’s face. Only knows it’s a woman in a simple white dress.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” she replies slowly. “My father told me that. Whoever you have there isn’t her.”

“No, there is no doubt in my mind that this is her. I know her appearance better than anyone else.” _Better than my father, her own husband? So is it true that unrequited feelings are making you do all of this?_ “Look, come closer! I will not even harm you!”

Byleth keeps her sword in front of her. The chalice is still absorbing blood, most likely from Hapi and Constance. Yuri better hurry up and get over to them. Despite this, she steps forward, swallowing, as she creeps just close enough to put distance between her and Aelfric, but still in range to see the woman’s face. He even steps aside for her to get a better look.

And… this corpse—if it can even be called that—is almost like looking in a mirror.

She can’t do anything but stare numbly at it. The jaw is a little more narrow, and the width between the eyes is slightly bigger than her own. Lips are thinner. Her hair is longer and a deep green with a bluish tint. But the nose, and the shape of her eyes—even closed, they look so…

_Who… Byleth, who is this?_

_Sothis, you’re awake?_

_Tell me. Tell me who this woman is._

_I… I guess… it’s my mom._

_No, why is it that I—she is—that body, I know it. I know it so intimately! I look upon her, and I feel as if I remember her, but I cannot place where! I know… I know I have seen that face before. _

_Well, she looks a lot like me._

_That is not what I mean! You don’t understand! I… I don’t even understand, but I am sure—I swear it…!_

“Teach.”

Claude’s voice brings back the attention to her surroundings. He’s just a few steps behind her, as is Balthus.

“Is he being serious?” He frowns, stare focused on the corpse upon the altar. “Because, if he’s trying to freak us out then it’s… kinda working. This… person, and you look a lot alike. A lot.”

“Yeah,” Balthus agrees. “Apparently this lady is your late mom. Aelfric was going on a whole spiel about her earlier before you guys came.”

“It was no spiel,” the cardinal assures. “This _is_ Sitri, your mother, Professor. The woman who you are half of. Is her visage reflective of your own not enough to convince you that—at least this—I am not lying about?”

She’s not sure what to say. The two beside her are pretty mute as well. She can only focus on the increasing silence of the space around her.

The last of the foes on the other side of the mausoleum are killed by Yuri, though she notices his swordsmanship is sloppy. Hapi is helped up by Dedue as Dimitri steps into her arcane circle, severing the blood flow. A few feet away, Constance stumbles on her legs after Ingrid manages to free her from her restraints, and the rune stops glowing when Edelgard steps into it.

Aelfric visibly grits his teeth once the final stream of blood falls to the floor. Looking around, as everyone she brought with her starts to congregate, she sees Jeralt approach. He hops off Petunia, axe in hand as he walks forward.

“Jeralt,” Aelfric says evenly when he sees him.

“It’s been a long time, Aelfric.”

“Since she was taken from me—taken from you? Yes.”

Byleth meets her father’s knowing glance.

_Yes, I’m starting to think you were right_.

“What’s going on here, Aelfric?” he asks, turning his attention to him again. “A holy man like you would really stoop this low for a mythical ritual, sacrificing lives for something that doesn’t even work?”

“Looking upon her, after all these years, would you sincerely tell me that you do not want her back?” he replies sharply. “See for yourself! Your beloved wife, Sitri, the mother to your only child—her corpse is exactly as how she was when she lived! _Look_, Jeralt!”

Though he stays where he is, he does in fact look at the body lying on the platform when Aelfric moves away. A flash of grief softens her father’s features, and the hand at his side curls into a fist. He can see her clearly, even from this far away. But for whatever reason, he doesn’t come closer. As if he’s frozen in time. His brow slacks a little, and the corners of his mouth tug downward.

She knows she doesn’t like seeing him like this, however subtle, because there’s an ugly tangle in her chest as she observes him.

“Do you not wish to see her return?” Aelfric tries. “Smiling, laughing? To hear her divine voice as she sings? Do you not wish for your daughter to meet the mother that was taken from her too soon? To be a _family_ again?”

Byleth can’t look away from Jeralt, even when she feels several pairs of eyes on her. From her peripherals, she sees her students staring back and forth between her and her living parent.

“There’s no way that’s her,” he finally responds. His brow knots as his focus returns. “I saw her coffin being lowered into the ground myself. This body is too intact for it to be real.”

“Strange, isn’t it? But it is her. I know it is. I found her ten years ago in Abyss—could not believe my own eyes at first.” He lowers the chalice, the thing having grown dull minutes after Constance’s blood stopped pouring into it. “Perhaps her body differs from others. Beautiful, ageless—some secret only she knows. One she took to her grave. This _is_ Sitri. Your wife. Byleth’s mother.”

When Jeralt still says nothing, Aelfric shakes his head. “Byleth did not know her. But you, Jeralt, out of everyone, I was sure you—her adoring husband—would want her back.”

“_Don’t_ talk like you know me, Aelfric,” he replies with an edge to his voice. “And after all this bullshit you caused, I’m starting to see you didn’t even really know Sitri either like you thought. You seriously believe she’d be happy four people were sacrificed to bring her back? _Kids_, even? Someone as sweet and gentle as she was wouldn’t be able to live with the second-hand guilt.”

He takes a step forward. “My wife, Sitri, adored Byleth, even if she only knew her while pregnant. So I can believe she’d trade her own life so our child would live. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her, but I accepted her passing long ago. You need to do the same.”

“Well said, Jeralt,” replies a loud voice.

From behind them, Rhea, Alois, and several knights ascend the steps to the dais. Much like how her father reacted, Rhea’s stare is frosty as she keeps her eyes trained on the cardinal.

“Aelfric, cease this at _once_. Even for a man of the cloth, you know not of the powers you aim to control.”

“Rhea… you…,” his lips curls, and his grip on the chalice makes it tremble, “it was you who caused this! I know it! You were the one who killed her! When she gave birth to a child who made no sound!”

And it’s that shock on the student’s faces, the looks they give her, that sinks her stomach. Even Claude, normally so nonchalant about everything, can’t help the surprise on his face. She wonders if she looks just as shocked—because this sure as hell is news to her.

“I heard the whispers,” Aelfric says, when no one responds, “from the nuns who aided in the strenuous, long, and undoubtedly painful process of trying to bring Byleth into the world for so many hours. Why did she not scream, or cry, when she was born? Unnatural, and eerie beyond—”

He yelps as a hand axe is thrown at his feet, missing the toe of his boot by just a fraction. Jeralt regards him with barely contained fury, nearly every muscle in his face straining.

“That’s enough,” he says darkly. “The only reason why I haven’t chopped an arm off of you yet is ‘cause you were Sitri’s friend. But one more word like that about my daughter, and you’ll be down a leg. I promise you.”

“Jeralt, are you not curious about why Sitri is so well-preserved?” Aelfric tries, backing away. Pointing accusatorially to Rhea, he continues, “She did something, I know she did! And you, as Sitri’s husband, do not _care_ to—”

“He owes you no words,” Rhea cuts in sharply, “and neither do I. Though I will tell you this: Sitri made the choice to die, so that her offspring might live. I respected her will. Nothing more. You should do the same, Aelfric. Her spirit is gone from this world, and cannot return.”

She takes steps forward, the knights around her keeping careful watch. Jeralt doesn’t look at her, only stares straight ahead. “Just as I viewed her, I view you: you are my child. Please, cease this futility. You have caused enough harm.”

Aelfric barks an empty laugh as he continues to walk backward. “Do you expect me to believe you? No, no this ritual _will_ succeed. I’ve invested all that I had to ensure it. My private funds, my own soldiers…”

With one hand, he keeps the chalice steady, and with his other arm, grabs Sitri in a half embrace. “The ritual will commence—there is enough blood here, and I will even use some of my own if that’s what it takes! If that is what’s needed for her to wake up surrounded by the flowers she loved so much, and I will not allow _anyone_ to stop me!”

He disappears in a Warp spell, taking the corpse with him.

Rhea frowns, her hands clasped tightly together. Turning to Alois, she says, “We will clean up the mausoleum tomorrow. Right now, there are more pressing matters. Have the knights search every crevice the monastery. The spell can only take him so far, unless he’s making multiple jumps. Even so, warping with another person takes its toll. Hurry.”

“Of course, Lady Rhea!” and then he’s gathering the knights once again, with only a few of them staying behind to guard the archbishop.

Jeralt is still frozen where he stands, a grimace on his face. When Rhea walks past him, he says, “We need to talk, when this is all over. You’re not getting out of it.”

“I expected as much,” she replies, even with his back to her. “But for now, we need to find Aelfric, and stop the ritual.”

She then goes to the battalion of healers and calls over the Ashen Wolves to be looked at. The other half fusses over her class. While all of them are still put together, they do have benign injuries.

Byleth walks up to her father, unsure of what to say. Or where to even begin. Jeralt never told her that she didn’t cry when she was born. And she hardly knows anything about childbearing or any defects babies might have upon birth.

Opening her mouth, she just closes it again, the words lost on her tongue.

_I’ve been… abnormal, ever since I was born?_

“After,” is all he tells her. Jeralt finally looks at her, the anger masked by neutrality. “We need to stop Aelfric first. Then you and I are going to have a long talk with Rhea. I’ll make sure of it.”

He wanders back over to his men while Byleth heads to where her class is clustered together being healed by the battalion. From the background, she hears, “Lemme see that pretty face of yours, Boss,” before there’s a hard _smack_ and exclamations of surprise as Yuri stumbles backward, falling onto the ground.

Nuns and priests reprimand Balthus as he glares at Yuri, who’s cradling his face. A bit of blood stickies his fingers as he pulls it away from his lips. One of the healers tends to him immediately even though he tells them he’s fine.

When he spots Byleth approaching, he says, “Guess I deserved that.”

“If Balthus didn’t do it, then I would’ve,” she replies when the healer leaves to tend to other people. “Or I might just punch you on the other side of your face anyway to make your bruises even.”

Yuri gives a soft, weak laugh. “I’d deserve it.”

“Glad you agree with me, Byleth,” Balthus says. “But you might actually kill him with the kinda power you got.”

“I’ll be mindful of my strength. Use only enough to make him unconscious.”

“I’m _sorry_,” Yuri starts. He looks at the Wolves, then at the students being healed, some of whom are giving him dirty looks. “Sorry for using you all. But there wasn’t much choice—someone would’ve died if I didn’t plan out things this way. I promise, when all of this is over, I’ll tell you why I did what—”

“So Claude was right.”

“Huh?”

Crossing her arms, Byleth looks over to where her house leader is chatting up Edelgard and Dimitri. “He guessed you weren’t doing this out of your free will, after considering everything. Aelfric had something over you that essentially kept you imprisoned in his control.”

Yuri sighs, staring down at his lap. “Yeah.”

“As much as I’m sure that sucked,” Byleth crouches down, giving him a hard stare, “my students were still in danger. They could’ve died multiple times.” _Did_ die, and that’s why she feels so pissed. “Innocent Abyssians would’ve been killed—you knew what you were doing when you asked me for my help. What if I hadn’t been your ‘ace’? What if I _didn’t_ figure out your hidden message? Then what would you have done? Balthus, Hapi, and Constance would’ve been sacrificed—_you_ would’ve died too.”

He’s quiet, actually looking guilty, and doesn’t meet her eyes. Byleth continues, “You didn’t account for your failure. Put too much stock in my capabilities. My intelligence. The lengths I’d go to trust others I don’t know well. I understand you had to make hard choices, but these are my students. I only ever do things that would benefit them. And it leaves a sour taste in my mouth to know that they would’ve been fodder for your last resort plan.”

When he looks at her this time, the slight scowl he gives her isn’t enough to stomp out the embers building in her chest. “You really think I’d carelessly throw away your lives like that? Boy, you really don’t know me at all.”

“No, I don’t. That’s my _point_, Yuri. Failing to prepare a backup plan in case the one you banked on didn’t work could’ve ended badly for everyone. I could’ve been suspicious of you and decided to ignore your ‘hint’.”

“I banked on you caring enough about the other three,” he says matter-of-factly. “I knew I’d fall out of your good graces once I ‘betrayed’ you. But I trusted in your desire to save them, at least. To hell with me.”

She’s not sure what to say to that. He’s not smiling, or even trying to act smug. Expression unreadable, meeting her silence with his own. Not even asking for forgiveness, like other people might’ve in his situation.

“Look,” Balthus starts, walking up next to Byleth, “I get why you did it, Yuri. But she’s made some points too. If you were stuck between a rock and a hard place, you should’ve told us. We would’ve figured something out together. Tossed you a rope to pull you outta there. That’s what pals do. Buddies.”

Constance makes a sound between a huff and a growl. “All of this implies that you simply did not trust us to help you _or_ trusted in our capabilities, even after all that we have endured together. I am incensed by you, Yuri!”

“Yeah,” agrees Hapi. “Use me or don’t, but it would’ve been nice if you asked us first. Sure, it might’ve been a huge bother to foil Elfi—Aelfric’s plans, but, c’mon. You’re Yuri-bird. We would’ve done it for you, especially if you felt trapped.”

He swallows hard, looking between each of them. Their glares more annoyed than angry. His eyes glisten a little, but one deep breath ebbs away whatever more genuine emotion threatened to slip out of him.

“I’ve been a fool,” he starts quietly. “I need… all of you. I just didn’t want to let myself hope like that again, after everything that I’ve been…,” he shakes his head, “well, I was proven wrong. Thank you for always being here for me, even now. I don’t know how I’ll make up for—”

“By helping us stop Aelfric,” Balthus says, offering him a hand. Yuri takes it in a firm grip as he’s pulled up. “And trust us to have your back next time, alright?”

“A fair deal,” he says with a slight smile. Glancing to Byleth, he asks, “What about you?”

“I’m still angry,” she admits honestly, “but we don’t have time to smooth things over right now. My class and I are still gonna keep helping you, _obviously_. But after that? I might still try to knock you out cold with a right hook, just so I can feel better.”

He actually laughs at that. She’s deciding if that makes her angrier or calmer. “You’ve sure got a lip on you, but honestly, I love it.” Walking closer to her, he says, “Where we go from here to end this mess, I’ll leave it up to you, now that it’s been proven I’m not as adequate with this situation as I thought I was. I’m yours to use, Byleth.”

Shaking her head, and clicking her tongue, she replies, “I don’t want to_ use_ you, Yuri. I want to _work with_ you. My personal feelings aside, we have a common goal: to stop the Rite of Rising. You and I can sort out this strain between us later, on our own time.”

“Agreed. So, where should we start looking?”

When someone clears their throat, Byleth turns around to see Rhea there. Waiting patiently, a smile on her face. Jeralt’s back is to them, still with his mercenaries as he talks to some of the battalion healers. But she can tell, whatever might be boiling under the surface, it’s not good. He’s stiff in his idle stance, fists clenched at his sides. She only catches a brief second of him glancing over his shoulder, glaring holes into Rhea’s back, before he directs his attention back to his men.

“I did not want to interrupt your moment of reconciliation,” the archbishop tells them. “But, if I may, it occurred to me that I might know where Aelfric has taken Sitri. He said he wanted her to wake surrounded by her favorite flowers.”

“The… greenhouse?” she guesses.

“No. It is the personal tomb I had made for her. Deep in Abyss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Byleth is like, a destructive weapon in human form, but you ever stop and realize that she goes through so much shit and it almost never gets addressed in canon? Writing this part of the plot really brought that point home. (And 21 is still pretty darn young. Byleth is a baby.) Man, IntSys should've just forsaken the self-insert gimmick and just made the Byleths their own characters. Not like people wouldn't project onto them anyway.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be long, around 10k words, because it's the last one for the Cindered Shadows arc. The final battle in the DLC actually takes place in the cathedral, but then that means it'd have to get damaged to some degree, and I don't want that. Lol So here I go again, using another Creative Liberties card to alter locations.
> 
> Jeralt seems like the kind of person who isn't explosive when he's angry. But instead has a cold or boiling fury that never spills over dramatically. I hope the way I wrote his reactions seemed plausible! Much like Byleth, he's another character I feel sorry for.
> 
> I was gonna add an extra scene of Aelfric talking to Sitri's corpse alone and add in his dark thoughts that festered after years of obsession. But then I decided he's creepy enough already. And at this point in my life, after consuming numerous titles in fiction, I can only handle so much of male characters going off the deep end for asinine reasons. But this might carry over instead into a future Claudeleth work I'm writing, at least if I can stomach him again when I find a place to potentially include him....
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	44. XLIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth and company thwart the Rite of Rising, and save the Ashen Wolves from being drained of blood until they die. Aelfric, however, doesn't back down from going through with the ritual and tries to convince Byleth he's in the right by revealing he's trying to revive her mother, Sitri. He doesn't listen to reason when Byleth tells him it's wrong to go through with it, and neither does he listen to Jeralt, Sitri's own family. Aelfric is convinced Rhea is the cause of the woman's death, and so ignores her words too by absconding with the corpse. While everyone is being healed and looked over, Byleth confronts Yuri who apologizes for his scheme, but she's not in a mood to forgive him just yet. However, he learns that he should've trusted his friends to help him instead of trying to stop Aelfric with risky plans. Rhea interrupts them, and says she knows where Aelfric might have gone to finish the Rite of Rising: a tomb she had built for Sitri in Abyss.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XLIV ⧽  
  
Unchained

Rhea leads them all down into Abyss through tunnels. Ones that don’t go into the hidden community of outcasted people; a pathway that is even new to the Ashen Wolves. Jeralt is quiet the whole time, at the back of the group with his mercenaries. Though Byleth is leading her class from the middle, she can clearly imagine the scowl on his face directed the archbishop’s way.

Her students make awestruck comments about this area foreign to them. Ignatz in particular is impressed at the network of tunnels that seem to span for miles. Rhea reminds them all to stay together, since the tunnels have a habit of shifting, creating new paths and blocking out old ones. There’s a slope they eventually reach that opens up to an old stone bridge. Underneath it is a shallow pond. Thin trickles of water run down the earthen walls to collect at the bottom.

At the end of the bridge is a metal door in the rock, one that has been blasted off its hinges. The front of it looks blackened, as if by fire. Rhea’s knights walk in first, even though she insists they not.

Inside is an expansive cavern. As big as—or even grander than—the cathedral interior, she guesses. Grass spans most of the ground, and pink flowers are in full bloom everywhere. Moss coats the walls. Small puddles of water pool on the ground against them, with one pond even managing to manifest at the center of the room.

Strange lanterns are hung on the rock wall, perhaps enchanted with magic to glow in an ethereal light. At the backmost part of the cavern is a pedestal. Sitri’s body is laid there, with Aelfric standing in front of her, chanting the words for the ritual. His left arm is cut, and just like back at the mausoleum, the blood from it ribbons into the chalice. There’s an arcane circle underneath him glowing with the four Saints’ Crests.

“Aelfric,” Rhea’s voice booms throughout the cavern, “end this foolishness now, otherwise I cannot guarantee the consequences against you will be light. I will not repeat myself a third time.”

“No one will stop me,” he replies, without turning to her. “_No one_.”

“The ritual will not work! It is incapable of bringing back a soul that has since long passed. It is even incapable of bringing the body to _life_. If Saint Seiros and the Four Apostles could not successfully enact it, you have no chance either to make it do what you wish!”

He ignores her, still chanting the words, so Byleth tries next.

“Please, Aelfric, stop this right now.”

“Rejoice, Professor,” he replies, her words apparently having fallen on deaf ears. “You will see your mother again soon.”

“Did you even think to _ask_ me if I wanted this? No, you didn’t. You didn’t even tell my father you found her body, and we’ve been at the monastery for half a year.” Coals start to burn in the pit of her stomach. She can feel Jeralt’s eyes on her. “You’re not doing this for me or for him. You’re doing this because _you_ can’t let go of the past!”

Again, he ignores her.

The chalice suddenly glows in a bright red light, lifting itself out of the man’s grasp.

“It is time!” he exclaims. “Soon, soon Sitri, you will return! To have the life that was unfairly taken from you!”

The knights tell him to stop, but he doesn’t seem hear them. Just keeps raving about a woman out of his reach.

“You were my whole world. Leaving me in awe with everything you did. And if he does not want you when it is done, then I will gladly take your hand, and give you an even happier life.” He throws his arms out, as if praising her. “Because you deserve all the wondrous things it has to offer! I may not be him, but I am here by your side, now and forever!”

When the chalice starts to tremble, a black, sludge-like substance pours out of it. Much like the one that consumed Miklan.

“Oh no,” Byleth mutters, breath caught in her throat.

“Yeah.” Sylvain is next to her on Nyx, clutching his iron lance. “Here we go again, Professor.”

There’s a bitter layer to his tone, but she doesn’t have time to analyze that. Not when she needs to come up with a plan _fast_ for keeping everyone in this room alive at what’s about to happen.

Rhea’s eyes go wide. “No, no it is just like—Aelfric! Stop!” She unsheathes out her sword and the shield that was strapped to her back, while the knights flank her. “You need to end the—”

“Sitri…,” he moans, as the substance crawls up to the pedestal, and envelops the corpse. The rest of it clusters around his feet, wrapping him in its darkness. “Si… tri… SItRi…,” and his voice gets progressively more and more distorted—like the growl of a beast, until the otherworldly sludge completely absorbs him.

This scene is all too disgustingly familiar to her class. Some of them exclaim in horror that they can’t believe they have to do this again. (Poor Bernadetta shrieks, and she won’t blame her if she starts to cry.)

The substance festers into a large mass of black and crimson, growing taller and taller, about four or five stories high. When the film of darkness bursts, in its place is an even more grotesque looking creature than the Black Beast.

Body is similar. Quadrupedal, with a long tail. But that’s where the comparisons stop. Its hide is made of dark gray strings, like muscle fibers, with red, vein-like tendrils wrapping themselves around its entire being. It has a pair of wings with the bones completely exposed. The membrane is made of tendon, torn in several places.

What look like spikes down its back is actually its spine protruding from its flesh. A long, fat neck tapers to its head that consists of a human skull minus the mandible bone, with another half skull merged at the top of the cranium, upside-down. Both flat like a mask. Two flat horns curl back at the edge of the second skull, and underneath its ghastly face is a layer of red fur around its neck.

A thing of nightmares as it snarls her mother’s name over and over.

“The chalice…,” Edelgard stares with wide eyes, “it fused with both of them!”

Dimitri takes a step back, lance in hand. “That aberration…. What _is_ it? An… I don’t know what else to call this creature except an umbral beast of sorts.”

Rhea closes her eyes, shaking her head slowly. “I see…,” she whispers to herself, but Byleth is close enough to hear. “It is just like the last time the ritual was performed….”

The Ashen Wolves take tentative steps forward, their faces a mix of grief and shock. Each expressing their horror or disgust at what Aelfric has become. Balthus reasons that they don’t have to like it, but they need to accept it at this point.

“He made his choice. Now all we can do is end this swiftly.”

“All four of you are still injured,” Byleth reminds. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“Professor,” Constance protests, “we owe it to him to end his miserable state ourselves!”

“Not if you’re going to lose your lives in the process. It’s not worth it.”

She garbles a response for a moment before pouting, but otherwise doesn’t try to fight it. Hapi says nothing; Yuri speaks instead. “We won’t be a liability if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Byleth shakes her head, unsheathing the Sword of the Creator. “My class and I already fought a creature like this before. And it was a close call. I won’t have you getting in harm’s way if I can avoid it.”

“Look, I get it but—”

“_No_,” she repeats firmly, sending him a glare. “You will stay here and recover. Only if—and I really do mean _if_—we’re down fighters, can you join. Otherwise, stay here in the back with the medical battalion.”

“Teach,” Claude says, taking out his bow, “how do you wanna approach this?”

She eyes the creature, and notices the iridescent sheen coating its hide. Holding back a curse, she replies, “Similar to last time. It’s got another damn barrier. But we have more capable people now, so it shouldn’t be as difficult. Maybe.”

Jeralt steers Petunia up in front. He says something to Rhea that she can’t hear, and then tells Byleth, “We’ll weaken it up for you.”

“Father, I have a plan.”

“I know. But now I’ve got a bone to pick with Aelfric, even if he’s turned into some unholy monster.”

“Yes, but there’s something you don’t know about this creature.”

She mentions the barriers, that it shimmers every so often, until it starts cracking. Then they’re obvious, and once the semi-invisible shell of magic is shattered, that’s when the assault will do the most damage.

“I’ll ask how you know this later, but, alright. Counting on you and your class to watch our backs while we do this.”

He charges ahead with his men without waiting for her response. Rhea calls after him to be careful, but he ignores it. Putting away her weapons, she tells Byleth, “I will stay here in the back, and provide medical support from afar. Professor, please, end Aelfric’s misery before the situation gets out of hand. We cannot have it escaping here and causing disaster in Abyss.”

She doesn’t need to tell her twice. Byleth huddles her class together and reminds them of their formation from back at Conand Tower. But she’s confident her father and his company will make quick work of the barriers. And when they’re shattered, that’s when her class should swoop in.

They get into formation, ready to go at the first sign of a broken barrier. The melee students at the front with herself, the magic casters and archers behind her, aerial assault above her, and the healers the furthest away for assistance.

One of the barriers shatters on the left side of the Umbral Beast, but she tells them to wait. “Hold on.” Another one breaks on the opposite side, and she still holds out her hand to keep everyone steady. “Not yet…”

Then she’s blinded by a red light after the monster roars, and when it clears, she’s all the way on the other side of the cavern.

“What the hell?”

She’s not the only one either. Every person close enough to the creature now finds themselves in a different location than where they were just moments before. Some further away, some up close to the abomination, and others hardly moved from their position of earlier.

“It appears to be some kind of spatial distortion magic!” Constance shouts from her safe distance. “Even I do not have the knowledge to prevent it from happening again!”

Damn it, her groups are ruined now. Everyone is too far apart for her to reform them, but at least all of the barriers seem to be broken completely. They can just rush at the creature then, only under the assumption that it can’t attack them with those crimson threads like the Black Beast did.

The monster starts heaving, and it coughs up—_blood_? Oh, yeah, that’s blood. A huge splatter of it falls from where she assumes its mouth is, hidden by the red fur underneath its skull face.

From the blood rise human-shaped figures that then teleport to random places within the cavern. The red dissipates and solidifies into a clone of Aelfric. Several clones, in fact. Their eyes vacant as they cast simple fire spells at whoever is closest.

The one nearest to the Umbral Beast gets gobbled up by the monster, disappearing into its hidden mouth, more blood oozing onto the ground as it’s consumed. The barrier that was broken starts to slowly rematerialize.

_It can restore it with those copies?! Shit._

Byleth rushes to the nearest clone and whips her sword in its direction, slicing it in half. It falls into a mess of bloodied clumps, painting the flowers and blades of grass a bright red.

“Destroy the clones!” she screams into the battlefield. “This thing will try to eat them to restore its barriers!”

The beast continues to moan her mother’s name as it skulks around, strangely sluggish as it tries to swipe at whoever’s nearest with its clawed hand. Every time someone cuts into its hide, the veins burst, causing more blood to smear down its body and onto the grass. A larger cluster of clones are born from the crimson liquid near its feet as a result, giving it easy access to more sustenance for replenishing its barriers.

And despite all the spears thrown into its body, every slash from axe and sword, every blast of magic, it only trudges forward toward Rhea, its voice growing louder and louder.

The Umbral Beast stands on its hind legs, rears its head back, and then shoots out a stream of blood at her group. Though she manages to dodge it or block with her shield, the knights surrounding her aren’t so lucky. They scream in pain and terror as the blood corrodes their metal armor until their very flesh is melting off their bones.

_That blood has acid in it! What the hell is this thing?! It’s even worse than the Black Beast!_

With the knights just about dead, the monster calls out Sitri’s name again before shooting another stream of its terrible blood at the Ashen Wolves. Rhea runs to intercept it, trying to block with her shield. But it just bounces off, and still manages to splatter some of itself onto her legs as they begin to corrode, painting her robes a sickly red as she collapses. The Ashen Wolves behind her, along with the healing battalion, can only scatter so far as another blood stream shoots at them. And even if it’s not on their entire bodies, it still melts away their limbs, or part of their torsos.

Rhea’s legs are gone with her hands soon to follow from falling onto the acidic blood. Hapi is missing part of the left side of her body as she heaves against the wall, trying to hold her liver and intestine back in with her bloodied hands. Balthus’s right side melting off has him grit his teeth as he growls out a scream, the poison sizzling as it eats at his muscles, forcing the fibers and tendons to start tearing apart.

Constance is turned away, but her right leg is already deteriorating as she screams, until her voice becomes muffled. Her face is hidden from view at this angle, but dripping blood and little chunks of flesh are still visible as it patters into her hands from where her face would be—_was_, most likely. And Yuri is lying there, breathing hard as the musculature of his back is exposed, gripping the grass and trying not to cry out as the bone white of his spine and shoulder blades starts to peek through.

All of it happening so fast and all at once, and Byleth doesn’t need to see another second before she turns back time.

She wipes away the cold sweat from her forehead after undoing the damage. The Umbral Beast stalks forward in her father’s direction, growling Sitri’s name. She whips the Sword of the Creator at its back, stopping it in its tracks.

It turns its neck around, staring at her with the vacant sockets of its skull.

“sItRi… SiTrI…!”

Now she has its attention. The thing ignores any inflictions the others give it to whittle down its life. Either it can’t feel pain, or it’s so hyper focused with its obsession over her mother that it doesn’t even care.

_Yeah, that’s right. Just follow me. I look like her after all._

“Kid! What the hell are you doing?!” she hears her father shout from somewhere far.

“Distracting it!” she says. “Destroy the barriers meanwhile! And any clones that pop up!”

The Umbral Beast rears its head again and shoots another stream of blood her way. She leaps to the side, using her sword as a grappling hook around a stalactite up above, pulling her forward and away from the assault.

When the blood stream hits the wall instead, it starts to melt away stalagmites, crumbling into an almost liquified heap of rocks. She hears someone shout, “Oh, _shit_! What the fuck?!” but there are too many voices calling after her to discern who it was that made the observation of the acid. She at least hopes it’ll make them more cautious about approaching it.

The monster calls Sitri’s name again, looking for her as it waves its neck around. When it spots Byleth on the ceiling of the cavern, it trudges toward her faster. A mass of stalagmites are clustered underneath her, and it uses that as leverage to stand up on its hind legs, attempting to climb.

“sItRi…,” it snarls, reaching up a clawed hand in her direction. “SiTrI…!”

Byleth whips her sword to the right, catching it on another stalactite. She swings over until the thing starts to crumble, and she quickly whips it again at the nearest one large enough to hold her weight. She dangles there like a fish on a hook, and the Umbral Beast grabs for her.

She whips too late, and it manages to clutch her around the lower half of her body, breaking off the stone spear from the ceiling. The monster gazes at her with the soulless void of its sockets. It wraps its other hand around the first, squeezing her enough that it hurts. Byleth cries out as the pressure gets sharper. There are several panicked voices down below calling out to her. Most of them she recognizes as her students.

“sItRi…,” the beast moans as its face comes closer to her. Tilting its head to the side as if curious. “SiTrIIII…!”

The thing howls when a tomahawk lodges itself in its lower neck. Byleth glances down to see Jeralt charging at the monster on Petunia, his lance raised. A cold fury sculpts his features as he tosses the javelin at the creature’s chest.

Byleth whips her sword around, stalactite still attached, and manages to impale the point of it through the skull of the monster. Though not deep enough. Only enough for it to yowl, but not fall. It lets her go, leaving her to dangle in the air.

_Damn it. I should’ve swung harder._

She’s too high up to jump down safely. But maybe she can land on Petunia who—wait, why the saddle empty? Where’s her father?

And then she sees him. Climbing up the creature’s tail, using the bones of its spine to navigate all the way up its back. Jeralt has the large bulk of a war hammer in one hand as he grips the fur on the back of the beast’s head. He uses one of its horns for leverage as he hoists himself up, precariously balanced, and with his other arm, slams the brunt of the hammer onto the broken off end of the rock spire. It digs through the beast’s head and it roars in pain, thrashing about.

Byleth swings over and up to cling onto the nape of the creature’s neck. Jeralt yells at her to run down its back before it falls, and she’s sprinting away with him on her heels. They leap off its hip and roll onto the grass and flowers just as the Umbral Beast starts to tilt over.

It lands onto the ground with a heavy slam. Smaller stalactites from the ceiling impale its body and the space around it. Her mother’s name fades away as the beast calls out to her.

“Si… tri…”

The black substance envelopes it again before it starts to dissipate. Unlike Miklan’s de-transformation, it doesn’t burst away, but instead peels off like sludge onto the ground. It slowly recedes back to a fixed point, like the tides of the ocean scraping back along the sand.

Her mother’s corpse is left unmarred as it lays among the grass and pink delicate blooms. The rest of the sludge gets smaller and smaller, finally disappearing within the Chalice of Beginnings and bursting with a red energy before falling still. Near it is Aelfric’s body, or what’s left of it. Torn robes and a skeleton, with bits of flesh hanging off it. His whole face is gone, replaced by the skull underneath, simply stained with blood and whatever muscle fibers were left.

Jeralt walks over to Sitri, and sits down on his knees. Byleth stands beside him as he stares at his lost love, gently cradling her in his arms. He brushes a strand of hair away from her face. Skin still so smooth.

“You were right,” Byleth starts. “I… do look a lot like her.”

“Yeah. You took after her more than me,” he replies, not glancing her way. “At least in appearance. In character and combat, well, I guess that’s where I come in. Don’t think she would’ve been so brazen to endanger herself like you did earlier.”

Her side throbs a little in pain from being squeezed, but she’ll have the healers look her over later. “I had to improvise. You saw what that blood attack did to the rocks.”

And she saw what it did to the humans who got caught in it.

He looks over to what was once a cluster of stalagmites. Now shaven off from their points, like a melted candle. “Erodes things. Just like the past did to him. I may have taught you well when it comes to a sword, and how to watch your back. But I failed when it comes to things you can’t take a stab at with a blade.”

“It’s okay.”

“Not anymore it’s not. Look at them.” He doesn’t glance over his shoulder, but she takes a peek over hers. The class and all the others are watching from a respectable distance, even Rhea. “They’re concerned about you. I failed in teaching you about… just people, in general. And all the messy intangible things that comes with being around others. Outside of them being our employers.”

“I never held it against you, like many things before.”

The smile is slight on his face as he continues to gaze at Sitri. “Yeah, I know, kid.” It falls after a pause. “The only thing I’ll agree with Aelfric on, is that this is indeed your mother. Goddess, she looks…”

He swallows hard, and the rarity of seeing his eyes glisten makes her throat feel heavy.

“Jeralt,” the grass crunches behind them, “Professor.” Rhea stands there, about three feet away, her hands folded in front of her. “I know better than to ask if you are alright, so instead I will say we should head back to the monastery.”

“I want a proper burial for her,” Jeralt says, the slightest heat to his words. “In the graveyard. No big show of it like the supposed first time. Just me, and my daughter. …And whoever else we feel can watch us say our last goodbyes to her.”

“Yes, of course. I will have it arranged immediately.”

Turning to her, his eyes are narrowed, jaw set. “You, Byleth, and I are still going to have that chat. I haven’t forgotten.”

“I did not think you would,” she replies, calmly.

Jeralt stands up with Sitri in his arms. He says nothing, except, “Kid, bring Petunia along,” before he walks off, not answering anyone’s questions.

Her class stares silently at her father. The twitches in their expressions when they gaze upon Sitri’s face… well, she has an idea of what they might be thinking. But she doesn’t ask. Just leads Petunia along, over the soiled grounds of grass and pink flowers.

Some of the students regard her with half-open mouths, as if to say something, but nothing comes out in the end. Raising a hand only to retract it back to their sides. Stepping forward before deciding to stay where they are. Even Claude is quiet, not smiling. Or making a smartass remark like he normally would. He just pats Petunia on her neck, stroking her hair.

And as they walk back through the tunnels, no one says anything still. She catches Yuri glance at her several times over the trip back home. But if he has something to say, he remains mum like the rest.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


“Please, allow us to attend.”

“Constance, you and the other three still need to recover.”

Byleth visits the Ashen Wolves in the infirmary later that Monday morning. Manuela had been beside herself knowing they were almost sacrificed, and it was probably that anger that had her going into overtime with keeping them well-cared for despite already being exhausted from the recovery effort at Mach Foothills.

That, and Balthus flirting with her upon first meeting increased her mood, most likely why the four were given such apt accommodations. The fluffiest pillows, the first to eat a meal in bed, among other things. Judging by the bedroom eyes she keeps giving him whenever she comes back to do her usual rounds, Byleth has a feeling Balthus will come back after hours for adult time. (And she doesn’t want to be here when that happens. Not if. _When_.)

Her mother’s funeral is arranged for sunset today. It’s been one hell of a week, and ending it in this way seems natural, for whatever reason.

She wonders if it’s strange she doesn’t feel sad about seeing her mother’s corpse, or doesn’t even know where to begin feeling in general. As much as Byleth wishes she got to know her in life, she can’t exactly cry. She wonders if Jeralt will hold it against her, but, he’s always been more understanding than most fathers, she thinks.

One thing’s for sure though: she certainly feels angry that Aelfric started all of this because he couldn’t move on, and disrespected Sitri by trying to bring her back to life.

“We have slept peacefully throughout what was left of the night,” Constance counters. “Ate a nutritious meal and took supplements to help restore our blood. I am no longer feeling dreadful like several hours prior. And besides all of that, we owe you for helping us. Tenfold.”

“Ywah, I fwanna bwe where,” Hapi adds as she stuffs her face with a meat bun. She tries to talk with her mouth full until Constance tells her it’s unseemly, and she’s making a mess everywhere. Hapi finishes chewing, then says, “You helped us out a lot over the past few days, Chatterbox. We couldn’t have saved Abyss without you.”

“I take back what I said,” Balthus starts, “about gladly paying back the debt I owe Aelfric. Since, well, the price was my life and I’m not gonna gamble that. _This_ time, though, I’ll absolutely pay _you_ back, Byleth. And to start, I wanna be there for you and your dad. Your mom too.”

“Paying our respects is the least we can do,” Yuri reasons. “I don’t like being indebted to people. But just this once, I’ll make an exception.”

If Sothis were awake right now, she’d probably tell her to just let them. It’s their way of showing gratitude, even if Byleth doesn’t think it’s unnecessary. (Well, for Yuri it is, after the shit he put her through. She’s still sour about it.)

“Okay,” she relents with a light sigh. “You can come to the funeral. But I don’t want you leaving here before that. I’m serious when I say you still need to rest.”

“Yes we will be conscientious of our health,” Constance assures. “Do not fret!”

As she watches them chat among themselves, with Hapi sharing the huge platter of meat buns with the other three, the images from before flash in her mind. The flesh dripping off their bones. How horrid it smelled. The crackling sizzle as the acid broke them down, bit by bit, until surely they would’ve—oh yes, they would have. And in that timeline, she’s sure that they did when the pain became too much. Or when their inner systems became too exposed, and could no longer hold together. No one would be able to survive that.

“—box?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted one.”

Hapi smiles at her, holding out a bun.

Byleth sits on her bed, staring at her, until Hapi starts looking confused. “Something on my face? I cleaned my mouth like Coco asked.”

“Would it,” goddess, why does she always feel this need to…, “be weird if I hugged you?”

“Eh, you’re not coming onto me, are you? Like, I’m super flattered, and I like you and everything. But I haven’t known you long enough to know if I _like_ like you that way.”

“It’s not that,” she starts. “I was just… scared.”

Balthus hums thoughtfully, looking a bit surprised. “You, scared?”

“…I didn’t want to lose any of you.” She looks at all of them, and then to Yuri who is the only one to not seem even mildly stunned. “We might’ve succeeded, but it was still too close for comfort.”

She jolts only slightly when Hapi lazily wraps her arms around her. “Mm, I get it. You want that tactile reassurance, right? That we’re here? I can do that.”

_Is that what this is? Why I also felt the need to hug Ignatz, Linhardt, Hilda, and Ashe when they…?_

“Yes,” she says quietly into her shoulder, wrapping her arms around her in return. “I guess so.”

“Aww, you’re just a big softie, aren’t ya, Byleth?” Balthus laughs, grabbing the two in a tight hug. “C’mere, Constance! You too, Boss!”

“Oh very well,” Constance sighs as she joins the embrace. “I cannot blame others for wishing to be in close proximity to m—,” she scrunches up her nose, “ugh, Balthus, when was the last time you bathed? I _know_ that foul odor isn’t coming from Hapi or the professor.”

“I’ve been busy, alright? I’ll take one later. Yuri! C’mon, you’re lagging it.”

Byleth feels his warmth from behind her as he tentatively wraps his arms around them. She can’t say she minds it. But that’s not something she feels like sharing.

“We’ll recover,” he says quietly, almost gently, close to her ear, “if that’s what it takes to help you.”

She only hums in response, starting to relax in their shared warmth, the smell of delicious meat buns close by. And when Hapi offers her one again, she takes it.

After that, Byleth says she’ll come check on them later in the afternoon. There’s no class today since her students deserved a break from all the fighting they went through last night. Most of them are probably still asleep.

On the other hand, she couldn’t really sleep much. The anticipated discussion with Rhea had her restless. There’s a lot she wants to ask her. Like first off, why is her mother’s corpse not rotted like it would be for other people? And why did she hide it from Jeralt? Additionally, what’s going to happen to Abyss now that Aelfric is gone?

There’s also the question of her birth. Was she… okay, or not, when she was born? What exactly happened that day?

She meets her father in the audience chamber where he’s loitering by the door. Rhea is inside, speaking with Seteth. Upon noticing them, the man excuses himself and walks out, giving a quick greeting to them both.

“Please, follow me,” the woman says as she approaches. They don’t go to her office. Instead, they take the flight of stairs to the third floor. The hallway here is small. There are only two doors that she can see. One a lot bigger than the first.

Rhea opens the smaller one, telling the guards stationed there to keep watch of the stairway for ‘eavesdroppers’. Jeralt hesitates, staring up at the frame. Byleth walks in first, which earns her a small smile from the archbishop.

“It is fine, Jeralt,” the archbishop says to the man. “There is nothing amiss here.”

His stare is hardened as he steps in, standing close to Byleth as Rhea shuts the door with a soft click.

It’s a pretty spacious room. The canopy bed is at the back against a large stained-glass window that takes up almost the entirety of that wall. There’s a fireplace, and a chaise lounge along with a dresser, and a rug on the floor. There are two doors at the front of the room, one on the left, and the other on the right. Each one probably leads to a bathing room, or maybe a sitting room of some kind.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks them, going over to her dresser, opening an elegant-looking box with multiple little drawers. It probably stores several flavors of the leaves.

“I’m fine,” Byleth replies. “Thank you though.”

“Jeralt?”

He regards her with that narrowed stare, and Rhea closes the box soundlessly. “Very well. No tea. I assume with the conversation to be had, there will not be time to drink very much of it.”

“I’ll be brief,” he starts, “but I expect straight answers. Why was Sitri’s body not buried? And why does her corpse look completely intact?”

Rhea folds her hands in front of her, frowning. She stares down at the floor, falling silent. Jeralt’s hands clench into fists at his side, and the muscles of his jaw are straining the slightest bit. A sign Byleth has learned means he’s getting impatient, or frustrated.

“I… well, in some way,” she starts gently, “I suppose I was similar to Aelfric, in that I could not… let go of her. She was dear to me, as you know; like a daughter. To see her so happy when she was with you, and when she was with child, her joy was infectious. And so when it was gone I… well, I could not bear it.”

“That’s why the casket was closed,” Jeralt points out. “And why after the wake, I wasn’t even allowed to see her again before she was buried.”

Nodding, she replies, “Yes. As for why her body was so pristine, admittedly, the thought of her rotting away was…,” she swallows, “was too much for me. I wished for her to have a bright future, and I would not have her buried in the cold, dark soil. There is an enchantment of sorts on her body that keeps her looking as when she was alive. As if she is merely sleeping.”

Glancing up at Jeralt, she adds, “I refrained from telling you because I did not want you to linger on what was lost. You had a child to look after.”

He remains silent, never tearing his eyes away from the woman before him. Before he can say anything though, Byleth asks, “Was what Aelfric said true? That I didn’t cry when I was born? My father told me you helped my mother through her birthing process.”

“Yes,” she replies calmly. But doesn’t say any more than that.

Yes to what? That she didn’t cry or scream? That she helped Sitri with the delivery? Does this have something to do with why Byleth’s heart doesn’t beat? And her pulse, while there, isn’t ‘natural’ either? Like she’s nearly a corpse herself.

Byleth keeps staring at her, not really sure how to ask her follow-up question. There’s something… not normal about herself. Never was normal to begin with, was she? Is that why her emotions are so stunted? Did something… happen to her when she was born? Jeralt did say Sitri died because of complications when she was giving birth. Could there be a missing event there that’s the reason why Byleth is so… strange?

“Kid,” her father says, just as she opens her mouth to inquire about it, “can you go look for Seteth? Check up on if everything’s prepped for the funeral. Wanna make sure he gets the flowers right.”

“…Oh. Um, sure. I could do that.”

He doesn’t glance at her, and Rhea’s focus is on him now. Though her expression is calm, there’s an unsettling glint to her eyes as she stands tall in Jeralt’s firm presence. The unspoken need to have a chat with her privately is understood quickly, and Byleth leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Part of her wants to stay to listen in. She deserves to know about a past still eluding her. But the guards by the stairway call her over, saying if she has no further business, to please leave.

Well, that wasn’t much of a conversation. Byleth hardly got the chance to speak at all. Jeralt is going to be in a bad mood later. She knows he will be. Or maybe he’ll have cooled down by the time the funeral takes place.

Even so, she’ll give it a couple of days before she asks him to tell her what he spoke about with Rhea after she was dismissed. Give it some time before she tries to ease it out of him. For now, she walks down the stairway back to the second floor to seek out Seteth, not wanting to imagine her father angry.

_You are suspicious, as you should be._

_Is it bad that I think she’s… hiding something?_

_No. It is a reasonable assumption. Like I told you in the past, the way she had been staring at you the last time you had an audience with her… it was… unsettling. I cannot put my finger onto why, but…_

_I can’t get a read on her. If I spend more time with her, though, maybe I can figure out what’s between the lines of her words._

_How do you propose you do that when she is so busy and unapproachable because of her position?_

_Rhea teaches healing magic. I also saw the way she handled her sword when we aided her in arresting the Western Church bishop. I can ask her to teach me these things. Maybe even just chatting with her over tea would help._

_Are you certain that is… wise?_

_We’ll see I guess._

_Byleth! Do not be so nonchalant about this!_

_Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I’m not trying to get excommunicated or something. Or executed._

Sothis grumbles, but says no more.

Which is fine since she soon locates Seteth in the cathedral as he directs people to make the proper preparations for the casket viewing. She asks about the flowers, and he says he hasn’t forgotten what Jeralt asked of him.

“Professor,” he starts quietly, pulling her aside near a pillar, “I wanted to… personally offer my condolences. Both to you, and to Jeralt.”

“Thanks. He’ll appreciate it once you tell him. I’m… still not sure how I feel about everything that’s happened, if I’m being honest.”

“I do not think anyone would expect you to. You know,” he folds his hands behind his back, sighing silently, “not everyone grieves in the same manner. Some are loud, others are quiet. Some need time to themselves, and others need to be in constant company. But it is also acceptable to just… not know how to acknowledge it. Or, to have a delayed reaction. Regardless of how you personally process a loss, I want you to know that I am here for you, and your father, if either of you need it. Flayn is also very willing to be here for you—is what she told me to say should I get a chance to speak with you before she does.”

He doesn’t smile at her, but his expression is nonetheless softer than she’s used to seeing from him, especially directed her way. She hopes this means she’ll actually have a civil relationship from now on with the man she calls her boss.

“Thank you, Seteth,” she replies honestly. “I really do mean that. And appreciate it.”

“Of course, Professor.”

  
  
  
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The funeral is a quiet affair. Even though there are many curious onlookers, the knights Rhea appointed to not disturb the ceremony make sure no one uninvited tries to enter the cathedral, or the cemetery while Sitri is being reburied.

Byleth’s class is also pretty silent. Maybe they’re still not sure what to say. Her mother has been long dead, and she never knew her. Regardless, they each put a flower on her casket out of respect. She and Jeralt are the last to do so, and are allowed to be the closest to it once it’s being carefully lowered into the ground.

After the soil has been patted down over the fresh burial, patches of grass are placed on it with the hopes that it’ll grow over the brown dirt, like a wound mended into a faint scar.

Everyone is ushered away back up to the entrance while Jeralt and Byleth are left alone.

“How are you feeling?” she asks him carefully.

Her father doesn’t reply for a few moments, eyes trained on Sitri’s tombstone. “Numb, I guess. Or, that’s the closest to how I can describe it. Everything happened so fast. It’s over now, sure, but…”

“No one is telling you to get over it and move on immediately. Aelfric essentially ripped off the stitching from this moment of your past. It’s fine if you need a while to recover.”

A gruff sigh escapes from his lips. “Rhea’s given me some time off. Whenever I wanna take it. Two weeks, if I want it to be that long.”

“That’s good,” she replies sincerely. He absolutely deserves a break, especially since she’s only ever seen him work, even as a mercenary. “Are you going to start tomorrow?”

Jeralt shakes his head. “Gotta help clean up Aelfric’s mess.”

He falls quiet again immediately after, mouth in a firm line. “Kid.” Byleth hums in response. “I know you’re still discovering things about yourself. Feelings, and all that. A word of advice: let yourself mourn. Grieve. Cry. Scream if you have to. Otherwise, the memories of a time gone will eat away at you until you’re nothing but a husk.”

“Like Aelfric.”

“Yeah. He never let go of Sitri. Made him do crappy things because he couldn’t move on. Love’s got two sides, and sometimes, it really is a coin toss of how it’ll affect you.” He looks at her as he continues, “One side will make you feel whole, and even if you lose that love, you can go on—not that it won’t hurt. Applies to both that special someone, and other people you hold close, like family and friends.”

“And the other side?”

“It’ll tear you to shreds,” he says in a more serious tone, brow furrowing. “Morphs into a façade of what love is; convince you that what you’re doing is right, even if it tramples over what you apparently cherish. Makes you greedy. Depraved. Twisted. Turns you into a facet of your worst self. Your love warps into an object that—if taken from you—come hell or high water, you’re going to get it back, no matter what you have to do to put it in your possession again.”

Jeralt sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m no expert or anything. I’ve only ever… loved your mother. But I’ve seen what this does to other people, both the good and bad. I just don’t want you to fall to the latter. Aelfric let it consume him instead of helping him grow. And lots of people suffered for it.”

It’s that which has her wondering if Aelfric was a good man at his core. Was this corrupted side just biding its time until a special trigger released it? Or is love really that powerful that it can change a person so drastically? She doubts anyone really knows the answer.

“Been thinking…,” her father starts after a pause, “that you and I should take that vacation soon. The weather’s still good, and will be for a few more weeks. Sleep on it, and let me know. I’ll take my time off then. And… I’m sure you’ll have questions to ask me, too. But not now. Please.”

She can wait for her answers, when he feels better. It’s why she doesn’t ask if he’s sure he wants to waste his vacation on her. He’ll just give her a hard stare and say it’s not a waste, or whatever other fatherly comment he’ll come up with.

After a few more minutes of staring at the fragrant flowers hugging Sitri’s tombstone, they finally decide to leave. Surprisingly, Byleth’s whole class, including the Ashen Wolves, are still loitering about. Maybe waiting for her. Jeralt’s mercenaries—and even Alois with some of the knights—are clustered farther back near the knight’s hall. Her father’s smile is very slight when he nods for her to go over to her students. Says they have to get back to the people who need them now. The time for thinking on those of yesterday has gone.

Back at the classroom, she and her students gather around together. A huddle of black, as they have yet to change out of their funerary ensembles. Her students offer their condolences and reflect on the battle from last night. She gives them her gratitude, but admits she’s still not sure how she feels about it all. They seem more unnerved than she does, honestly.

When Bernadetta speaks, it’s then that her suspicions are validated.

“It was… um… weird, seeing your mother like that. In the… casket. So still. Because she… you look a lot like her and…”

“Some of us couldn’t help but see you in Sitri’s place,” Linhardt finishes. “Dead, and lifeless.”

Bernadetta shrieks, waving her hands around. “I’m not saying I want you—or any of us wants to th-think about you being dead! B-But it’s just um—gah I’m sorry Professor! Forget what I said!” and then proceeds to slink down in her seat until she’s effectively hiding under the table.

“What Bernie means,” Mercedes helps, no doubt trying to undo Linhardt’s damage, “is that it put things into perspective.” She frowns, clasping her hands together. “I always pray to the goddess that she’ll bless you, even if we’re not sent on a mission.”

“W-We don’t want to lose you, Professor,” Ignatz notes. “It made us… a little uneasy. We’ve been through so much together and the thought of you not being here anymore it’s…”

“Unfathomable,” Lorenz ends quietly. “Though it is expected death be a risk on the sorts of assignments we’re sent on, it’s still a reality so far removed to us because of the nature of who you are.”

Raphael nods, crossing his arms. He frowns, looking down at the ground. “You’re so strong, and we like to think you’re invincible. But seeing your mom like that—a mom who you look so much like…”

Dorothea walks up to her, and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think what everyone means to say is that they care about you. And I haven’t been—well, I know I only just recently became involved here, and I’m not even in the class, really. But everyone here loves you, Professor. That’s why we were so spooked.”

“We’re not trying to _not_ make this about your mom,” Annette says quickly, “because it’s still horrible what happened to her. But um, well it’s just that we—”

“It’s okay,” she finally says. “I get it, really. And I’m not offended or anything. But it’s why I train so hard, and why I push you all as well. If something should happen to me, you’ll be able to defend yourselves and each other.”

“_Or_,” Claude saunters up to her side, “another way to word that is you train us so we can be equipped to protect ourselves _and_ you. Remember Teach, we’re a team, even if we’re only students. You’re not infallible; no one is. But you’re also not alone. You’ve got us to watch your back when things get tough.”

He looks to everyone, asking, “Isn’t that right?”

The answer is a resounding, confident affirmative (Bernadetta even squeaks her agreement from under the table), and it makes Claude grin wider. He nudges her with an elbow. “Like I said before, you’re the only Teach around. There’s no way we’re gonna let harm come to you if we can prevent it.”

His eyes are fond as he meets hers, and for once his smile is actually true.

Still, there’s something that keeps bugging her. As much as she doesn’t want to ask this next question, she at least wants to be in control of it, even if only this little. Because not knowing might just eat her up inside. Until she gets her answers from Rhea, she might not ever be comfortable that her class will look at her differently now.

“Back in the mausoleum, when we confronted Aelfric,” she starts, “you all heard what he said, right? That I didn’t… cry or scream when I was born, or make any kind of sound. That I was… weird. And eerie. Because babies aren’t born like that.” She idly traces the lines on her palm with a finger. “I’ve been strange since my birth.”

The room is quiet for a minute, and then it’s Leonie who speaks first.

“What things? Don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor.”

Byleth looks up at her. She has her hands on her hips, stance firm, and a smile on her face.

“You… _did_ hear, right? When he said—”

“No, we didn’t,” Felix replies, face serious in contrast. But otherwise, his expression is relaxed.

“But you were all th—”

“Must’ve been your imagination,” Lysithea asserts. “Because—if he _did_ say something like that—that’s stuff only for you and your father to know.”

“We didn’t hear a thing,” adds Ashe. “Especially not something that should be private, and not announced in a way that would violate your family’s privacy.”

Marianne shakes her head. “N-Nothing.” And, to her surprise, her normally quiet, sullen student looks… determined? “Whatever Aelfric said about you, Professor, only you must’ve heard it.”

“Information not for the ears of us,” Petra speaks up. “Aelfric was not being… was not a good man, and the things he said are to stay in the tomb. Because,” she smiles, “we did not hear them. And you will not be hearing us repeating them.”

“But if,” Sylvain starts warmly, “there’s stuff you do wanna tell us though, when _you’re_ ready, and not when someone decides that for you without your permission, then we’ll listen.”

She wonders why her eyes feel like they might sting. Wonders if—because she _knows_ they heard. She _felt_ their stares on her when Aelfric announced to everyone how strange she was since being brought into this world. Abnormal and creepy.

Though they’re not staring at her like that anymore. Merely regard her as they would on any day of the week.

“No matter what he said about you, Teach, it’s stuff we just didn’t hear. Not even a little bit.”

Claude gives her a quick wink and a smile when she looks at him.

_You…?_

When she finds her voice again, she says to them all, with utmost sincerity, “Thank you.”

A warmth drapes over her as she looks at their faces, each so distinct but glowing with the same revitalized vigor that hadn’t been there moments prior. “All of you really are wonderful students. I’m lucky to have this class, and proud to even… call you my friends.”

Everyone stares at her in surprise now, even Claude. Utter, genuine shock, and even the slightest hike of the eyebrows from Felix too. If someone so grumpy and standoffish as him even reacts the slightest bit, she must’ve done something truly weird.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look. At. That.” Claude’s surprise melts away to genuine cheer, as he says, “You smiled.”

“I… did?”

He laughs, and it makes her stomach flutter. It’s a sound she really likes, one that she finds harmonious, and even cute. Why, with every passing day, does she find the things he does to be so endearing?

“That’s just like you, Teach.”

“Ooh, Professor!” Hilda pushes her way through, and grabs her hands. “You’re _way _too adorable, do you know that? I can’t believe how pretty your smile is! Why would you hide something like this?”

And maybe she’s also experiencing embarrassment as others compliment her, even quiet Marianne who’s also smiling now, because it makes her feel hot. She hears Sylvain utter the word ‘breathtaking’, but more like he’s in a stupor, and not attempting to pull a move on her. Just… observes, at the back of the cluster of his peers, and she itches to know why.

“It’s a good look for you, Chatterbox,” Hapi says. She and the other three Wolves had been mainly watching everything unfold. Maybe not truly feeling like they’re part of their little glade of fawns. “The next step is to make you laugh somehow.”

Balthus agrees with a loud ‘hah’. Constance nods, saying, “Let us rejoice now that the horrid past is behind us! And though I have known you but a short time, I dare to say that such contentment should be upon your visage always!”

Yuri looks like he wants to comment, leaned against a table with his arms crossed over his chest. If he does, he misses his chance when a knight interrupts their little gathering. Tells them that Rhea wants to see her and the Ashen Wolves.

Once Byleth has dismissed her class, she and the other four head up to the audience chamber. Rhea is by herself with only two guards posted at the entrance. She smiles serenely at them once they’re close enough.

“Congratulations, Professor,” she starts. “Yet again you helped thwart a disaster within the monastery. You and your students. What is more, you returned an ancient artifact of great power to the church. Though, perhaps it would be best if it were destroyed.”

Rhea sighs, then composes herself again, smile returning. “You as well, Ashen Wolves, have my gratitude. I do not know how I will be able to repay you all.”

“You are most welcome, Your Grace,” Constance replies, stepping forward to bow. “And… I… well, perhaps I could have a private audience with you to discuss something?”

“Of course. But we will save that for later. I will have Seteth schedule it, so we may talk. And I believe I know what the topic will be.”

Looking to the others, Rhea continues, “The remaining cardinals and I spoke a short while ago. While we will have a proper meeting at a later date, the unanimous decision—especially after what Aelfric has done—is that we will disband the Ashen Wolves House.”

The four look at her with different levels of surprise. She explains the house was intended to offer youths the church’s protection, but because of Aelfric, and some other clergy up high in administration, that intent was corrupted. It became a cage instead of a sanctuary—especially for Yuri and his three friends. After everything they’ve been through, she finds it only right that the Ashen Wolves students all officially get a special degree of graduation.

“A full year has not passed,” she reminds, “but I will offer this alternative to every pupil of the house. They may choose to take graduation now, or wait until the academic year is over. Then it will be indefinitely disbanded.”

Hapi pouts a little, shaking her head. “The church is the one who put me in Abyss in the first place, and now you’re basically kicking me out?”

If Rhea takes it as a slight against her, she doesn’t show it in her stance or her voice. “You may continue to live in Abyss if you would like, Hapi. All of the students from your house have that choice. I simply mean to inform that your options are no longer limited to just that.”

The smile appears on her face again. “Abyss will always be a refuge for those who need it most. But for you wolves, your chains have been unbound. You are free to live as you wish now.”

Balthus and Constance smile at the news, beginning to talk about their future plans. Hapi just rolls her eyes, but doesn’t make a big fuss. Yuri, however, doesn’t look pleased.

“You’re just going to let me go?” he asks Rhea. “You remember that I did some unsavory things even while I was working with the church, right?”

Rhea shakes her head lightly. “You have already been judged for your transgressions, Yuri. You have slain the undeserving, and that will be your weight to bear. Now you will have plenty of time to contemplate on those actions. That is punishment enough, do you not agree?”

He frowns, dropping his gaze to the floor. Rhea smiles at him, shaking her head again like a doting mother who tuts at her rowdy child. She looks at Byleth next, smiling even wider.

“Professor, there is no reward that would be great enough to show my gratitude to both you and your class. That is why I am offering you and your students a small reprieve of sorts. Though I do expect them to still study so as to not fall behind other classes, I am positive that you will find creative ways to combine pleasure with learning.”

“Lady Rhea, are you… giving me the okay to take my students on a vacation?”

A breathy sound escapes her, almost like a laugh. “Yes, my child. For this month, you do not have to worry about being sent on an assignment. You have gone far and beyond with this most recent one. I am allowing you and your class to have a leisure period; the length of time will be of your choosing, though not beyond about a month, I hope,” she says lightly. “Please take some time to think it over. I am sure your students will be thrilled.”

She dismisses her then, saying she’d like to speak privately with the remaining four to arrange how they want to proceed from here.

  
  
  
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Byleth doesn’t see any of the Ashen Wolves again until the next afternoon when she’s approached by Yuri on her leisure hour. She’s given the next two days off to her students for them to recover from their latest horrible experience—and Rhea assured her it won’t be counted into their vacation time.

“Please don’t ignore me,” he says, sounding exasperated.

That’s what prompts her to put down her book from where she sits under the shade of a tree. “Yes, Yuri?”

He’s in his commoner garbs again. Shifting on his feet, he explains, “I need to apologize to you properly. And your class. While I’m still trying to figure out the latter, I can at least do the former for now.”

“And how are you going to apologize to me?”

While her anger has died down a bit, frustration still lingers from the danger he put them all in for his risky scheme to stop Aelfric. (Hell, he himself almost _died_ back there in that cavern.) But… it worked in the end. Doesn’t mean she’ll forget all the trouble they had to go through, though.

“Dinner, tonight. I still owe you that date.”

“What makes you think I want to go on one with you after everything that’s happened?”

“A bribe; I’ll tell you what you wanna know. About how this all started. About me, but within reason. There are still some things I’m not ready to share just yet.”

When she doesn’t say anything, he sighs, “Really trying here. Look, it doesn’t even have to be an official date or anything. Just… an apology. Like I said before, I don’t enjoy being indebted to people, but you’re one of the few who I don’t mind owing.”

“Are you gonna cook again?”

“Yes, I am.”

Well, it’s free food. And she does want to know the roots of this mess. Yuri also seems honest this time, and genuinely remorseful. Plus, she’d rather have him as an ally than a stranger. Or worse, an enemy.

Byleth drums her fingers on the cover of the book in her lap. “Okay. Just say where and when.”

A small smile appears on his face. “Around dinner time. I’ll come get you.” As he walks away, he turns back around to say, “Don’t worry about dressing up or anything. Bring your dagger if you want—whatever makes you comfortable,” before he leaves in a hurry.

In the hours that follow, she busies herself writing up ways she can make the vacation engaging and fun for her students. She also doesn’t want them to fall behind, but everyone is long overdue for a break. (Although she might have to force Lysithea to relax, if she’s being honest.)

Yuri, like he said, escorts her from her room down to Abyss later that day. They go through a new tunnel on the upper levels of the town that puts them on a winding path. It leads to a rocky exit that opens up to the cliffside. A small stone stairway weathered with time is hidden from the other side of the outdoors with its large boulders, acting as a wall between them and what’s sure to be a huge drop.

When they get to the end of it, there’s a small grassy ledge cradled by walls of rock. A tiny pool of water rests in the corner from a trickling stream that goes off the edge down below to where she assumes is some kind of pond.

On the grass, a blanket is spread with a large picnic basket in the center. There are lit candles for ambiance, or when it gets dark, probably. For this not being a date, it still seems more on the romantic side.

But she’s hungry, so she’ll let it slide.

“No one will bother us here,” Yuri says, as they sit down on the blanket.

“And no one to hear the things you tell me.”

He laughs lightly, opening the basket. “You’re a sharp one. As I’ve said before, I like that about you, Byleth.” He elegantly presents a bottle of wine (the fancy stuff too) and asks if she drinks, to which she says yes. He pours them both a glass, and she takes the one offered to her. “What do you think about toasting to… starting over?”

As upset as she still is, she’d actually like that a lot. Being angry is a feeling she’s quickly growing to dislike. “I can agree.”

They lightly clink their wine glasses together, and then Yuri tells her what he prepared for them tonight. Cooked salmon with herbs, and a hearty side of vegetables and rice. There’s a chowder soup he made too—as someone, who he keeps unnamed, told him soup is one of her favorite things to eat. Appetizers are little breads with cheese and an olive spread, and for dessert he made an assortment of small fluffy cakes with fruit centers, baked with honey and cinnamon on top.

The food is so delicious, and the wine smooth on her tongue, that her frustration starts to die down as she listens to Yuri talk. He tells her of the hold Aelfric had on him. The man kept his old gang imprisoned in the monastery’s dungeon, and his mom was held hostage. They’d be killed if he didn’t help him with the ritual. And even if Yuri ended up dying, there was no assurance that Aelfric wouldn’t dispose of them anyway after the fact so as to not leave witnesses.

Yuri lives in Abyss not entirely of his free will because of Aelfric too. He was set up; forced to kill other church members in the spur of the moment who were going after his old gang. And the only reason why he wasn’t executed was because Rhea found it too suspicious. Aelfric’s adamant requests to keep Yuri in Abyss instead of going through with his death sentence were odd to her, whereas before he used to agree with the punishments matching the crime. Yuri had been working as a double-agent ever since, reporting to her on Aelfric’s every move, until the man threatened him. Then he couldn’t help but hide it from her, which she didn’t hold against him.

With some of his dirty laundry now aired, the conversation moves away from morbid territory, and into a bit of his past. While he doesn’t name where he comes from or most of the places he’s been, she’s still enthralled by the carefully selected tales he tells her of his ‘adventures’ navigating behind the curtains of the cutthroat aristocracy, especially the one in the Empire.

Byleth reminds him he doesn’t need to tell her everything. He has a right to his privacy, which earns her an appreciative smile. He then asks her about herself, and listens intently, as if what she has to say is interesting.

Once it’s all over, she feels comfortable enough to forgive him, but she also wants this to be a lesson for both of them.

“I agree,” he says, shaking her hand when they’ve returned to the outside of her quarters. “This was fun.”

“It was. I had a nice time.” She pauses, then says, “What are you going to do now that you’re free, Yuri?”

He smirks, tutting his finger at her. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out eventually. For now, how about we say our temporary good byes? We’ll meet again soon, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod. “I wish you well on wherever it is you’re going. And yes, one day, we’ll see each other again.”

“Thanks for spending time with me tonight. Your students are lucky to have you as their professor.”

Byleth hums. “If things had gone a different way, I wouldn’t mind having you and the other three in my class too.”

“…You mean it?”

“Yes, I do.”

Yuri says nothing in response to that. Just continues to smile at her before taking her hand to place a kiss on top of it. “Until we meet again, Byleth.”

And she watches him go, hoping that their next meeting won’t be years from now, at least.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


On Thursday, her class resumes. Dorothea is allowed to attend lecture, though she does ask Byleth to help her with the work Manuela is still giving her. She wonders why she’s taking so long to see if this class is a good fit for her if it’s just giving her more work. Well, technically, it’s still the beginning of the month. She needs to be here for at least the rest of it, according to the paperwork.

It’s still early enough in the morning that being tardy would be expected. Except everyone on her roster is here, so she’s unsure why there’s knocking at her classroom door.

Raphael volunteers to open it, and when he does, his cheery laugh has her looking away from where she was turned around to write on the chalkboard.

There, by the nearest empty table, is Yuri, Constance, Hapi, and Balthus. The former three are dressed in the black, white, and gold-trimmed uniforms of the Officers Academy, mimicking the style of the ones they had in Abyss, just without the chain accessories. Balthus, on the other hand, has garbs much like any of the men that Jeralt had employed in his mercenary company. (Though his sculpted torso is still exposed, she notices. Must be proud of it.)

When all she does is stare, Claude speaks on her behalf instead. “Not that we’re not happy to see you folks, but why’re you dressed like that? And here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hapi shakes her head at him. “We’re here to learn, duh. Thought you were supposed to be the smartest person in the class, Claudester.”

He can only look amused at that, glancing over to Byleth. “Teach, you knew about this?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“It was a last-minute thing,” Yuri says with a shrug. When Byleth questions why would they want to still be in school when Rhea pretty much said they’re free to leave and do whatever they want, he replies, “Exactly. We’re free to choose what we want to do. And what we want, is to be in your class.”

“Our education was disrupted,” Constance informs. “After being under your guidance the past several days, well, we have realized that we missed out on what it truly means to be a student in this fine academy. Lady Rhea told us you are exceptional, and would welcome us with open arms!”

“Except me,” Balthus points to himself with a thumb, “y’know, ‘cause I already graduated years ago.” He leaves out the fact that he’s too old now to be a student anyway. When Claude cheekily points it out, Balthus shoots him a look, but otherwise ignores it. “_So_, since I gotta pay you back for helping us out so much, Rhea hired me as your teacher’s aide!”

Hilda giggles. “Baltie, for real?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna help out Byleth with training and stuff, and when you guys go out on missions.”

She wonders how he’s going to handle the little detail about having several bounties on his head. Something to talk about with him later.

“I’ve also been everywhere around Fódlan, so I can offer up my experiences from all the tussles I’ve been in. _And_, I’m getting paid!” he laughs at the end.

“You _do_ know that now you’re going to basically represent the professor and our class, right?” Hilda points out. “The Golden Deer House too. Which means you can’t blow all your money on booze, ladies, and gambling in a way that makes us look bad. Or the church. _Right_, Baltie?”

The pause he takes is way too long. “Yeah, I know that. ‘Course I know that. Knew that before I took this job. Absolutely.” Coupled with his smile falling as he talks, his reaction doesn’t at all ease the worry off of some of her students’ faces.

“I’ll keep him in line,” Yuri assures. “You just do your thing, Byleth, and guide us through the remainder of the year so Constance, Hapi, and I can have a proper graduation at the end of it. Sound good?”

“I have no objections,” she says with a small smile. “Now, please take your seats.”

Constance sits next to Mercedes when she calls her over, giggling something about how they’ll finally be able to attend school together. Annette properly introduces herself in that bubbly way of hers, and Constance replies with just as much enthusiasm. Ashe offers Hapi a seat next to him, and his notes if she needs to catch up on where they are in lessons. Yuri sits at the same table that Claude and Sylvain are at, giving each of them a cordial smile which they return before looking back at the board. Balthus takes a place at the back of the room, leaning against a pillar as he half reclines on the benched seat.

“Byleth,” Yuri waves at her, not a minute later, “sorry, I mean, Professor.”

“Yes, Yuri?”

“I expect to be treated like any other student of yours. Don’t let that date we went on the other night influence how you grade me.”

That has Sylvain turn to him with breakneck speed, with Claude instead staring wide-eyed at Yuri, before he looks back to her questioningly. Then Dorothea starts cooing about Byleth going on a date, even though she explains it was entirely platonic. And _that_ prompts a whole discussion on the fine line between a date and a hangout. Balthus makes it worse by talking about his ‘courting’ experiences (in a family-friendly way), which have been a mixed bag.

Pretty soon everyone forgets the lesson, and Byleth sighs in defeat.

Sothis laughs in her mind.

_You have your hands quite full for the rest of the year with these newest additions, it seems._

_Things are definitely going to be… interesting from now on. Yeah._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the Cindered Shadows arc is complete! Woo! I hope you all liked how I interpreted it! 🐺✨
> 
> This final battle was actually pretty easy for me, so I wanted to reflect that here in the work. (The damn golem map was THE WORST one out of this whole expansion, and honestly leagues harder than the final boss fight.) But the Umbral Beast is definitely the most horrific monster in all of FE3H. I mean, it shoots out _blood_ as its attack. I don't think it's poisoned in the game, but I wanted to add that hazardous element to it otherwise it makes for a lousy "weapon". And in general, it just looks like [a thing of nightmares](https://fireemblem.fandom.com/wiki/Umbral_Beast?file=Umbral_Beast_battle_model.jpg). 😱
> 
> Our next plot point is actually a mini-arc meant to give both the characters, and you readers, a bit of a break from all the dark stuff that's happened so far. There's also more shippy scenes to come with it too. <strike>And it's going to be another reason for the new M rating I gave this fic</strike>.
> 
> Byleth will get her answers from Rhea eventually; I've already planned where it's going to be in this story. And just because the class is most likely going to forget Aelfric's claims about Byleth's birth, that doesn't mean Claude is. There's a time and place for everything....
> 
> Well, I think I'm gonna take another week-long hiatus because the nerves in my wrists and arms are acting up again. I know they're fucked up at this point, so I need to rest them, otherwise they'll keep hurting me and get worse. I don't think I have carpal tunnel, but I'm sure it's something similar. Or maybe I have that _and_ something else.... 😓 Additionally, fall semester starts next week for me, so that's another reason why I wanna take a break. Need to get myself adjusted accordingly. But I'll be back the following week! Thanks for continuing to stick with me this far into the story! I really appreciate it! ;w; 💕
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> Fun fact: this is the longest chapter so far in this fic. I don't know why it ended up this length. 😂


	45. XLV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Aelfric goes through with the Rite of Rising, fusing with Sitri's corpse. The Umbral Beast can make clones of Aelfric with its acidic blood and even spews it to attack. It's highly corrosive, to the point where Byleth needs to Divine Pulse to prevent the Ashen Wolves from dying. But together with Jeralt, the father-daughter duo manage to defeat the creature. Byleth doesn't get her answers from Rhea like she wanted, but on the flip side, people who care about her and Jeralt support them through Sitri's second funeral. Evidenced specifically to Byleth when the class pretends to not have heard earlier when Aelfric called her unnatural upon birth. It causes her to smile in gratitude for the first time, unintentionally charming everyone in the room. Rhea later mentions the Ashen Wolves House is to be disbanded, and Byleth is allowed to take her class on a vacation as a reward. She also repairs her relationship with Yuri through a platonic "date", and now has three new students on her roster, plus her very own teacher's aid.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XLV ⧽  
  
Sprouts of the Heart

** _13th of the Horsebow Moon, 1180 ━_ **

Claude isn’t sure how he feels about the class’ new additions. Constance and Hapi? Yeah, the more the merrier. Balthus being the T.A.? Kind of unexpected and a little weird, but sure, why not.

Yuri, however, is a little irksome.

For one, he’s not even trying to hide the fact that he wants to be the teacher’s pet. Answering almost every question that it even frustrates Lysithea. To the point where Byleth has to politely tell him that she wants to give other people a chance to answer, but she’s glad he’s paying attention.

Then there’s that date they had on Wednesday. One he didn’t have to mention to the whole class out of nowhere. But he did. Grinning at him in that smug-ass way of his. But Claude didn’t take the bait. Because, first off, Byleth can go on a date with whoever she wants.

And second, it shouldn’t bother him. Because Claude would only be bothered if there was something between him and Byleth. Which there isn’t. She’s his professor, and his friend. He’s just being cautious, that’s all.

Yeah, that has to be it.

Besides, he’s already over it, and thinking of other things. Byleth had announced that Rhea granted them all permission to take a vacation in reward for working so hard on the assignments they’ve been sent on so far. (It’s about damn time.)

Although, he wonders if this is a peace offering of sorts after the latest incident. Jeralt was very tense back in the Holy Mausoleum, and Claude didn’t miss the way he glared at Rhea when she wasn’t looking. Though, she probably knew, and simply didn’t care. Or expected it, and just knows how to keep a calm façade.

Whatever was her true involvement in Sitri’s death, it’s not his business. _For now_. Although, he does want to look into it for Byleth’s sake. She, at least, deserves to know more than anyone else.

But that’ll have to come later when the event isn’t so raw anymore. He doesn’t want to think about anything but the upcoming vacation, though the class has yet to decide on where to go. They’ll be discussing it once today’s lecture is over.

Kind of hard to concentrate though with all this heat that’s normal for this moon. Even if Claude’s used to the scorching summers of Almyra, at least their architecture is designed to keep cool during such a thing. Fodlan’s isn’t. Especially this room, which makes things stuffy.

He’s had to take off his blazer and sit in his sleeveless top. Most of his other classmates are in the same boat, including Lorenz who normally prefers to be properly dressed at all times. Raphael even asked if he’s allowed to take off his shirt, and Byleth let him.

(Sylvain asked the same thing, but was immediately shut down.)

Byleth herself isn’t wearing her lace stockings today. Just her shorts, a top that actually covers her whole front, and a light jacket. Which was probably for the fresh cool air of the morning. But that nice weather is gone now, being that it’s after lunch and likely somewhere within the hour of 2 in the afternoon.

“And so,” she sighs, circling the answer to a question on the angle to shoot up at an enemy along a rafter, “this is the correct way to measure that distance during a strong gale.”

“Professooorrr,” whines Hilda, fanning herself with a hand, “it’s hooot.”

“I know, Hilda.”

“Can’t we just… end class early?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Byleth takes a hairband from around her wrist and uses it to tie her hair up in a high ponytail. “The door’s already open to let some air in, but I’m afraid that’s all I can do. Balthus will be back with some water soon.”

Too bad they can’t open up the stained glass window at the front of the classroom. Or that the chimney doesn’t spew ice instead of fire.

Constance cools herself down with a fancy hand fan, still completely dressed in her long-sleeved uniform, unlike everyone else who had to make on-the-spot alterations to bear the conditions. As a result, she has the most beads of sweat on her face to the point where it threatens to ruin her makeup.

“Goodness, what awful weather,” she comments. “Oh, if only there was a way to cool the room in this blasted heat!”

“Don’t you know powerful ice spells?” asks Leonie tiredly. “Just shoot one in here.”

“Then everything’s gonna be wet,” Felix points out. “It’ll melt all over the place.”

“While I like where your suggestions are heading,” Constance huffs, wilting in her seat as she continues to fan herself, “it’s true that everything will just melt eventually. Although, I suppose I can look into finding a way to preserve that ice somehow….”

“Let’s try to focus,” Byleth says to everyone, lightly clapping her hands to get attention. “Remember, we need to get as much under our belts as possible before we take our vacation; we don’t want to fall behind. Especially with the Battle of the Eagle and Lion coming up next month.”

Oh that’s right. They have that big battle in a handful of weeks. Claude’s already drawn out several possible maneuvers they can take to snag the victory. Ones he plans on sharing with Byleth the next time he gets her alone. A bit of a fun challenge for him since the Golden Deer House is smaller than the other two, like it is almost every year. Maybe they can even practice while on their leisure trip since no other students will be around to sneak a peek. Then they can just share what they’ve learned with the other classes in their house.

Byleth goes back to the board, switching to the next topic which is on how to dispel blasts of magic with regular metal weapons. She sketches out a picture of each category of non-magic weapons, beginning to list underneath the different forms in which to use them to your advantage against something like a Miasma spell or an ice-based one.

Somewhere along the way, she wipes at her brow with the back of her arm. Mutters something about the insufferable heat, before taking off her jacket and tossing it onto the chair behind her desk.

Claude can’t help but stare wide-eyed at her. Can’t help the extra heat that rises to his face either.

Boy that sleeveless top _sure is_ deceiving. It may cover her whole front, but in exchange, her entire back is exposed. And she doesn’t even have—oh gods, yeah, there’s no strap there. Or any kind of visible support for… her chest. The blouse is only held in place by two strings tied together around her neck, and another pair at the bottom hem. Which is tucked into her very tiny shorts. And because she’s very… _bountiful_ in the chest area, that means the blouse has to be loose enough to fit all of… _that_ in there and as a result means that from the side you can kind of see her—not that he _wants_ to look there but well, it’s _there_ for sure—and you can see the form of it where it connects to under her arm.

Everyone else in the room is deathly silent. Some with redder faces that he’s sure isn’t from the heat of the summer. Others are focusing on their parchment like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Poor Ignatz’s glasses are completely fogged up, and Lorenz looks like he’s going to have a stroke. Ashe, with a tomato-red face, is having a staring contest with his notes. And Bernadetta is covering her own face as she slinks down in her seat. Hell, even Yuri has his mouth slightly agape in surprise.

The only ones who are reacting in a different way are Leonie and Petra. The former looking confused and the latter scribbling her notes down as Byleth continues talking. Linhardt, on the other hand, is actually staring, but doesn’t look flustered in the least. Only mumbles a small, “Oh my.”

Not even Sylvain makes a comment. Posture straight and rigid as he sits there, gaze glued to her exposed back as he wears a stunned neutral expression. The quill in his hand snaps in two when he makes a fist. It gets ink on his fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to notice.

Hilda, however, looks amused. And that’s extremely suspicious.

Especially when she casts a glance at Claude, a sickly sweet grin curling on her lips as she rests her chin on folded hands. Wiggling her eyebrows up at him.

“Professor,” Felix suddenly shouts, “I know it’s hot, but be a little more conscious next time with your attire.”

“Huh?” She turns around to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Your top. It exposes your whole back. And we can also partially see the sides of your big tits.”

Sylvain sighs, jerking around in his seat to look back at him. “Damn it, Felix. Why do you gotta be such a killjoy all the time?”

Felix sneers at him. “Go jump in the pond, Sylvain, and don’t come out until you’ve drowned your thirst.”

“I was _just_ looking—”

“Yeah, I _know_ you were. Wipe the drool off your desk, pig.”

“Felix is right, Sylvain,” Dorothea tells him, shaking her head. “Honestly, do you have any shame?”

“I dunno, Dorothea. Do you? You were staring pretty hard at the professor too, biting your lip and everything. I obviously wasn’t the only one checking her out. And unlike me, I don’t know where your hands were.”

That causes her to sputter, growing red in the face. She glares at him, and he only throws a shit-eating grin back at her.

Balthus comes in then, carrying several large pitchers of water in a crate, and nearly drops the damn thing when he comes to a halt. Eyes landing on their dear professor who strangely looks the mildest bit uncomfortable.

“_Damn_, Byleth! Does the monastery really let teachers dress like that? Man I would’ve paid _a lot_ more attention if I had someone like you or Manuela as my instructor.”

“This is the only clean summer top I had,” she loudly informs everyone, the slightest trace of embarrassment in her tone. “Why do you think I wore my jacket for most of the day?”

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed, Professor!” Raphael says. “Look at those back muscles! They’re great! Mine are bigger though, but yours are nice too!”

“He is having sense,” Petra joins in. “Your form is very strong, so do not be ashamed.”

“Did you pick that out yourself?” Hapi asks. “‘Cause it doesn’t seem very ‘Chatterbox’.”

“Um,” Byleth twists the chalk in her fingers, “I never cared for fashion or anything like that. Hilda helped me shop for outfits early on in the year, and that’s why I—”

“Oh.” Felix crosses his arms, looking Hilda’s way. “So it’s your fault.”

“My _fault_?” She puts a hand to her chest. “How rude! I did it to help the professor! She had no other clothes at the time except her mercenary armor. I wasn’t going to let that stand! Especially with the kind of body she has! Not that she should flaunt it or anything, but a little _emphasis_ wouldn’t hurt now and again.”

Byleth sighs, rubbing at her eyes. “I’ll be more mindful of what I wear to class, but outside of it, I just don’t care. As long as it’s comfortable and does the job. Which it _does_ for this heat. Please, everyone, let’s just try to pay attention for this last chunk of the lecture. Then we can discuss our vacation plans, alright?”

That seems to ease everyone’s discomfort, although it’s still a little warm, at least from where Claude is sitting. Byleth tries to help the situation by writing on the chalkboard at an angle so her back doesn’t face the class, though it only makes her look awkward in her stance.

In the end, she sucks it up and loosely ties the sleeves of her jacket around her neck, and that solves that problem.

The day goes by quicker after that. Once their lecture is finished, they switch to the topic of their vacation. Everyone is a bit more lively, throwing out suggestions of where they should go. Some are a bit too difficult at the moment (like Petra suggesting Brigid) and others painfully uncreative (out in the forest, courtesy of Leonie). Naturally, when Claude brings up Derdriu, he’s already prepared his reasons, which are sure to at least knock most of the other ideas down several pegs.

“We missed the Leicester Alliance Founding Day,” he informs, “which was this past Sunday. Running around through Abyss kinda prevented us from partaking in the festivities. And because I got put in the class that’s been the busiest, there wasn’t time for me to plan out anything in honor of our house.”

There’s also the funeral they held for reburying Sitri, but he’s not going to bring that up. “By the time we get to Derdriu, things will have already died down, but it’s still a decent alternative, don’t you think?”

He reminds people it’s called the Aquatic Capital for a reason. It’s a large, bustling city situated on the coast and partly over several canals. It’s very clean and organized, with the architecture tastefully colorful, and the landscaping pristine. The beaches are also well taken care of, and the sea is a glistening green—clear enough that you can see the bottom. It’s not as tropical as Brigid, sure, but it’s the next best thing. And, it being a port city, there are a lot of different foods to try outside of just Fódlan cuisine.

Plus, they’ll have lodging in Duke Riegan’s estate, which is on a hill overlooking the sea. They won’t have to rough it out in the wilderness, and they’ll always have a wash room available should they need it. There are also enough vacant quarters that Claude is sure they can use one as a makeshift classroom so they don’t fall behind. And best of all, Derdriu isn’t too far from Garreg Mach. It’ll take around a week max to get there by foot.

When Byleth asks what the class thinks, it’s almost completely unanimous. The main motivation being the collective desire to take a beach vacation before the summer ends—the only thing most of his classmates like about this weather.

From there, they discuss the activities they can do and what supplies to take. Start doing the math for their budget too—though Rhea did say whatever was left over from Aelfric’s coffers would be theirs to use however.

And by the time the final bell tolls of the academic day, everyone seems to have forgotten the stuffy heat of the classroom as they scramble out, chattering about their excitement for the vacation.

“Good idea suggesting Derdriu,” Byleth tells him, once the room is cleared. “The class seems really eager.”

“Well you know me,” he says with a smile, sauntering over to her as she erases the board, “I’m chock full of good ideas, Teach.”

She nods idly as she goes to her desk to gather the papers spread out there. Byleth sighs, making a frustrated comment about her jacket as she’s finally allowed to remove it. Claude tries his best to ignore the reality of her bare back and unintentional side-boob, instead watching as she stacks the papers together to fit in her satchel.

“We’re going to need at least six caravans,” she mentions, writing down a shopping list of sorts on a piece of parchment. “One to carry everyone’s belongings, another for our supplies while on the road, then we need one for weapons—oh, I have to make lessons plans too. Which means we’ll need to take a few things from the classroom and—”

“Woah there, Teach.” Claude wraps his hand around her wrist to stop her from scribbling. “You’re already tiring yourself out. This vacation is _also_ for you, you know.”

She gives him a questioning look. “Yeah, but as professor, I’m still responsible for everyone. I need to make sure we’re prepared, and account for instantaneous battle while on the road, among other things.”

“Then I’ll help you, okay?”

Byleth opens her mouth, but then closes it, looking down. Her gaze flits over to where Claude is still holding her wrist. He lets go quickly, clearing his throat. “Remember, we’re a team. No more doing stuff by yourself. If you really want to get this out of the way, I don’t mind sitting down with you somewhere to go over all the technical stuff for our trip. You gotta submit its paperwork soon to Seteth, right?”

“Yes. I would like to leave by this coming Sunday so we can get to Derdriu around Friday or Saturday of next week. Which means I have to get this stuff ready by this evening.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do! But how about somewhere else other than this stuffy room?”

She nods. “Outside, where at least we’ll get some kind of breeze. Maybe by the pond, at the back of the greenhouse. That little grassy sitting area. There’s shade there.”

A teasing grin spreads on his face. “That’s a pretty secluded spot. Want time alone with me that bad, huh Teach?”

“Yes.”

When he stares at her with wide eyes, Byleth waves her hands around. “Not like—that came out strangely. I meant no one will bother us. I want this done before dinnertime so Seteth has enough of a head’s up on what we’ll need. People are always asking me for help, or to have tea with me, and stuff like that. While I enjoy it, I just… want this done, is all.”

“O-Oh, yeah that makes sense. Well then,” he gives a little laugh, turning away from her once his face starts to heat up, “I’ll um,” he gathers his things from his desk, “meet you there then?”

Byleth only gives a nod and a hum in response.

Claude hurries away, not wanting to risk embarrassment showing on his face. Which only happened because, as always, Byleth managed to catch him off-guard. How is it that she keeps doing that? Flustering him even, when that’s not her intention? If she had been any other person, he’d be considerably concerned.

Well, he still is. But… maybe it doesn’t bother him because of her obliviousness to it. Yeah, that’s probably the case.

He dresses in something cooler before heading over to the spot he’s supposed to meet her. The change of pants is made of thread that’ll allow his legs to breathe, and he switched out of his thicker yellow top for a sleeveless one. And creamy white doesn’t catch as much attention as yellow anyway.

Claude doesn’t have to wait long for Byleth who forewent her jacket and is… still wearing her backless top. Which he is ignoring because he has to and _should_. Besides, they’ll be facing the same way (at least he thinks they will) so he can focus on her face instead.

“Okay,” Byleth sits under the shade of the tree that he nabbed for them, “so where should we start? I’m thinking about supplies for our journey, first off.”

She takes out a clean sheet of parchment from her ledger, dipping the quill in the inkwell. Writing, _Supplies for Journey & Back_, she says, “Having a list of everything will give us an idea of the caravan quantity.”

“Well, we definitely need food if we’re gonna be traveling for a week there. Rice and vegetables for sure. Maybe fruits. Jugs of clean water. We can attempt to bring meats, but some of them we’ll have to cure beforehand, or figure out a way to use ice to preserve them without it melting.”

They reference a map Byleth brought with her, and Claude draws out a path from Garreg Mach to Derdriu. Noting good places to rest, and any towns along the way to restock depleted supplies. But he suggests they try to make their edibles last so they can save enough coin to spend once they’re in Derdriu.

At some point, Byleth falls quiet, and Claude looks up at her. “Teach? You with me?”

“Oh,” she blinks a few times, “sorry. I was just… looking at your braid.”

Claude grabs at it with his thumb and index finger. Byleth continues, “It was dangling there as you were leaning over the map, and it distracted me a bit. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He chuckles under his breath. “Y’know, for someone who insisted before she’s not like a cat, you do kinda remind me of Kitty Teach right about now.”

Byleth huffs lightly, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I keep getting compared to animals. First Linhardt’s weird wolf analogy, and you with your cats.”

“Okay,” Claude leans back, “what _is_ it with him and that metaphor? I don’t think I want to know the full extent of it.”

“I don’t know either,” she quickly says, shrugging. “The gist of it is about me forming my ‘wolf pack’, and that’s really all you need to know. But like I said, it’s inaccurate. Anyway,” Byleth focuses on his braid again, “I guess I just like how it looks.”

He’s glad she doesn’t ask if it’s a fashion statement, or holds some significance. “Well thanks for the compliment! You should try braiding your hair sometime too.”

She shakes her head. “My hair’s too unruly. It’s not like Ingrid’s or Marianne’s. Or Petra’s. I don’t think it’ll stay.”

“Nonsense! You can braid any type of hair. There are a lot of different ways to do it, and it varies from culture to culture—at least from what I’ve read. Even regional.”

“Ah, I see. I guess I…,” Byleth picks at the feather of her quill, “just never tried it.”

She explains that her father used to cut her hair for the longest time. When she was little, her hair was short like a boy’s, and even as a teenager, she kept it short so it wouldn’t impede her combat ability. But as she got better with her skills, she decided to let it grow out—and only recently. Makes a note that in the winter months, it kept her neck warm, like when they’d have to travel to Faerghus during the later portion of the year.

While Jeralt did have his rat tail, she never asked him to teach her how to braid. It just wasn’t something she thought about.

“Oh, I see,” Claude says with a hum. “Makes sense. Well, if you want, I can braid it for you sometime so you can try it. See how you feel with one.”

Byleth’s eyes brighten just a little. “I’d appreciate that. How about right now? Shouldn’t take long, right?”

And when he says he doesn’t mind, he wishes he suggested a different time to teach her. Because now her bare back is facing him, and it makes his ears feel hot, seeing that large expanse of skin. Smooth, and no scars. How tight it is over her shoulder blades and muscles. To see the dip of her spine, and him still being able to unintentionally see the sides of her—

“Claude?”

“Huh? Oh! The braid. R-Right. Uh, just sit tight Teach.”

He undoes the ponytail she has up, and Byleth runs her fingers through her hair to smooth it out. For the braid, better not use the Almyran technique he implemented for his own. Definitely needs to be a Fódlanese style. Maybe one from the Leicester Alliance. 

Fully conscious on her locks instead of what’s hidden underneath, Claude gets to work. He begins at the very top, keeping track of which cluster of hair is going to be crossed where. Over and under, with different weights—because man, Byleth has _a lot_ of hair, and it’s not thin either. And he’s so into tightening and almost threading her hair that he completely forgets about her back until he’s done, and the braided hair lays just about where her shoulder blades are.

After he’s finished tying the latticework together with the hairband so it doesn’t come undone, he pulls his hand away quickly when his knuckles accidentally brush against her back.

“Uh, there, all done!”

Byleth brings her braid over her shoulder and Claude looks away, minding his business as he revisits the map of where they drew their route.

“There’s a smaller pattern down the middle,” she notes, “with the chunky ones cradling it. This is nice; thank you, Claude. What kind of braid is it?”

“A lattice braid that’s popular in the Leicester Alliance. The more intricate the middle braid is, the fancier it’s meant to be. But the simplest pattern can be worn for everyday stuff.”

She hums. “Well, I like it. Maybe later—like some other day, will you teach me how to do it?” she asks, partially turning to him.

That open look she has is lightly curious. Her hand rests on the braid tucked over her shoulder, exposing her back to him, the tree shade freckling her form with tiny fractures of the afternoon sun. He has half a mind to suggest she thread small flowers into her hair. A lovely sight that would be, enough that Ignatz might even want to sketch or paint her.

Even if Claude has to pay him to do it.

“Claude?”

“Um… huh?” he shakes his head, blinking away his thoughts. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“No, just that you kind of zoned out.”

His hands feel sweaty all of a sudden. Claude laughs it off lightly, shrugging. “Guess this heat is just making me sleepy.” _Yeah, that’s definitely it_. “Could use a nap.”

“Oh, right.” Byleth looks over the list they wrote down, smoothing out the parchment. “I think we’re almost done. Just a few more things to account for, and then I’ll take this to Seteth.”

As she’s scribbling down more notes about their food stores, Claude asks, “Hey, you still have that tomato plant I gave you?”

“Of course,” she replies without looking up from her writing. “Ashe has been helping me keep it maintained. I don’t want it to die. The tomatoes have been fruiting every handful of weeks with the magic-infused soil. I kinda snack on them when I’m grading papers.”

“Is that why I saw a weird stain on my latest test?” he teases.

Byleth… _pouts_? Yeah, that’s definitely a pout. “Some of the tomato juice accidentally squirted on the corner. I tried to dab it away as best as I could, hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

Claude laughs. “Well, gives it a certain charm I guess. And I asked because I want to make good on that promise of me cooking you something with them. Especially since we’ll be at my place for our vacation.”

Even though she doesn’t smile, her face lights up when she looks at him. He can’t help the grin that stretches on his lips at seeing her so… excited, in her own subdued way.

“I’ll bring my fishing rod. Can you find shellfish on the beaches of Derdriu?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then I’m definitely doing a bit of shellfish hunting in the sand once we get settled. I’m curious to see what you’ll make for me. I really want to try your food, Claude.”

And for whatever reason, it makes him feel a bit excited himself. “I won’t disappoint. I’ll start thinking up dishes right away, Teach.”

Once they’re finished with their tasks, they go their separate ways. Byleth to hand in the paperwork to Seteth, and Claude to the dining hall to catch an early dinner. But he spaces out most of the time, thinking about the almost coquettish way she appeared earlier, turned like that, a hand over her braid as she gazed at him. About how content she looked and sounded when he said he’d cook for her.

He doesn’t notice he’s been smiling like an idiot until one of the kitchen ladies on duty points it out to him, asking if he’s that hungry for today’s dinner. And then he agrees to play it off, but feels his cheeks growing warm again as he looks for a place to sit.

_I’m just happy to see a friend happy. That’s all it is._

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


A vacation after the crap they went through during the last couple of weeks is honestly a goddessend. Their class has endured hell compared to all the others in the Officers Academy, and it’s about damn time they get rewarded for it.

Plus, it’ll keep Sylvain distracted from darker thoughts he’s been trying to ignore.

Thoughts about Crests, and how much misery and pain they bring. Supposed to be blessings from the goddess, but from his experience, all they’ve brought is frustration or outright misfortune to those who have it.

First Miklan. Turning into that… _thing_. It was like the Relic just consumed him. And if Crests weren’t so damned important to the nobility, he might’ve never walked that path. Might’ve never abused Sylvain for several years over something he had absolutely no control over.

Or maybe he still would’ve. He can’t remember that far back, what life was like before his parents and those around him really started to preen about his Crest.

Then there’s what happened with the Ashen Wolves. The four of them nearly used as human sacrifices for some stupid ritual. All because they had rare Crests. Well, it was also because Aelfric wanted to bang Byleth’s dead mom and never moved on from the fact she chose Jeralt over him. What a fucking bastard.

He’s tried not to dwell on those things because they’re in the past now. But running into Mercedes after class really soured his mood.

Honestly, things were going fine at first. He was walking her to the cathedral since she was going to go pray, so he asked her about herself for small talk. Sure, Mercedes is very beautiful, but, she’s also his friend. And he doesn’t know why all of a sudden he wanted to just… talk, instead of try to flirt with her like usual.

She’s immune to it, for one, so that could be a reason. But maybe he’s just been thinking hard about that whole fiasco with Aelfric and Sitri. Even if Sylvain has never experienced it himself, whatever that display was of Aelfric’s feelings, it wasn’t love. He was willing to kill people over it, even Byleth, the daughter of the woman he supposedly adored.

Maybe seeing her in that grotesque monster’s claws rattled something in him. Gave him pause. Seeing someone he knows so close to death—seeing multiple people, his classmates, in danger once more against another abomination—knowing that all the chaos they helped thwart was over some dead woman because a man held regrets…

Well, he doesn’t want to be like that. While he’s alive, he’d at least like to know a few things beyond the surface about his classmates. He’s going to be with them for half a year more. It’s why he admitted he’d like to know about Mercedes as a person. As a friend.

Not that he told her all of that.

“Oh goodness, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“It can be about anything! But if you want a topic starter, why do you go to pray so much? Not a lot of students are as devout as you. Is that something you like doing?”

She nodded. “It is. I’ve liked praying ever since I was a child.”

They moved over to a shady spot outside the faculty building after they unintentionally blocked the entryway. Mercedes reminded him that she was a former Empire noble of House Martritz, but it fell before she was born. Her father passed away while her mother was still pregnant, so she had nowhere to go. Until the head of House Bartels found her sometime later.

“My mother got pregnant again shortly after her new marriage, and she bore a son with a Crest. A ‘true’ heir.” Mercedes leaned against the wall, and Sylvain mimicked her. “His name was Emile. But, I haven’t seen him in a long time, and I don’t know where he might even be at this point.”

She frowned a little, staring at her boots. “For about ten years we lived there. Until eventually, my mother’s age prevented her from having anymore children. So both she and I were kicked out since the family didn’t consider us useful anymore.”

Mercedes fell silent, rubbing her boot along the grass. So Sylvain asked, “You think they just wanted your Crest?”

In response, she nodded again. “Yes, I’m sure that was the reason. We had nowhere to go after we were officially removed from the family, so we fled to a church in the Kingdom. It’s when I took up my old surname again, Martritz.”

Her expression was neutral, and her frown was smaller, but she probably had a lot of time to move on from being treated unfairly. She added that the church there treated her and her mother well, so it’s why she took up a habit of praying, until it became part of her daily routine. Something she ended up really enjoying, and was the start of her learning white magic as a result.

“Ah, I see,” Sylvain replied quietly. “Makes sense now why you’re so devout.”

She smiled at him. “Yes. I can pray wherever, but I enjoy doing it in the cathedral over all other places. I feel more connected to the goddess there. Oh! Prayer! That’s right, I was on my way to—”

Her attention was pulled away when she caught sight of Jeritza walking out of the dining hall. Looked like he was headed in the direction of the training grounds. He’s always there, just like Felix.

“I’m sorry Sylvain,” Mercedes apologized, though she didn’t look at him as she said it. Just kept staring at the aloof man until he disappeared behind the large doors of the training grounds. “I forgot that’s what I was going to do.”

“Nah, nothing to be sorry about. I interrupted you.” He pushed off from the wall. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, of course!” and then she hurried away to the cathedral.

Poor Mercedes. She’d been through a lot, but never let it get her down. Maybe that’s why her presence is always so calming. Whoever was the head back then of House Bartels, they didn’t deserve her, or her mother. And those two didn’t deserve to be treated like an old pair of shoes, either.

“That family wanted a Crest and ruined people’s lives to get one.” He shook his head as he walked away, a bitter smile on his face until it fell into a sneer. “These idiots are all the same.”

It’s why after that conversation from earlier in the afternoon, Sylvain needed time… away, from this. From a place full of reminders at how stupidly, and needlessly important Crests are to people who act like it’s their right to have them. Just staying holed up in his room wasn’t cutting it.

Mach Foothills distracts him for a bit. He eats by himself at a restaurant to better his mood before he chats up the nearest pretty girl. But she brushes him off after he compliments her eyes.

Fine, it’s okay. He’ll just look for another one.

Yet that second one also walks away, rolling her eyes and muttering a comment under her breath about how she doesn’t need this today.

Well, third time’s the charm, so he tries again.

But after the fifth failed attempt, a woman actually approaches him, and he gives her his best smile. Finally, his luck is cha—oh, no. No, he recognizes that face. A brunette whose parents own a fish market. She has a birthmark on her inner thigh. Yeah, he’s sure of it.

And now she’s yelling at him because she witnessed him trying to pick up other women.

“Oh c’mon, I was just—”

“Just nothing, Gautier! Did our dates last month mean nothing to you? Our…,” her cheeks grow pink, “our time in my room when my parents were out?”

Sylvain cringes, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Oh, that. Yeah, see, I thought we were on the same page. Y’know, that this was gonna be just a casual thing.”

“What would make you think that?!” she almost shrieks, staring at him with big eyes.

“When I said ‘let’s have some fun’ and you agreed?”

The woman sputters before she says, “I thought you meant for that _day_! Not for our whole relationship!”

Okay, yeah, there’s the waterworks. She sobs behind a hand, glaring at him. Things only get worse when he says it’s probably best they break it off because clearly signals were mixed up. Then she yells at him, calls him shallow, and a typical man. A ‘bastard’, before she hurries away, trying to stifle her sobs.

Damn, and she made some of the best grilled fish he’s ever had, too.

“Back at it again, are you, Sylvain?” comes a familiar voice from behind him.

He startles slightly before turning around. Byleth is standing there, and fuck she looks as hot as it feels outside. Whoever braided her hair knew what they were doing. Tiny shorts, and that sinful backless top. Knowing she’s not even wearing a bra of any kind—he can stare at her all day. Goddess, she’s so fucking gorgeous.

“Oh, Professor, didn’t realize you were there.” He grins at her, and says, “If we keep meeting like this, people will start to talk.”

She crosses her arms, hip leaning to one side. Her mouth is in a thin line. “I was browsing shops to compare prices for things we’ll need for our class’ trip. Nothing more.”

“Don’t get mad! I was only joking, obviously!” When she continues to stare at him, he sighs. “Ah, forget it. What do you need? My help with shopping or carrying stuff?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “not for now, anyway. Just happened to witness yet another one of your lover’s quarrels. Having girl problems, Sylvain?”

Sighing, and putting on his best puppy face, he tells her, “I fell for that girl recently, but she thought we were serious. All I wanted was to have a little fun, but apparently we had different definitions of what that meant. So, I told her we should break it off. Then she started crying and things got… complicated, you could say.”

Byleth stares at him for a minute before she shakes her head. “You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that, Sylvain?”

Yeah, he does; she doesn’t need to remind him. And sure _she_ can say that since she hardly knows him outside of being her student. Are they even really friends? They’re the same age, but she’s never gone out of her way to just _talk_ with him. Not like she did with Yuri, and not like she continues to do with Ashe on their gardening Sundays.

Not like she does with Claude, either.

Hell, Sylvain has asked her out plenty of times and she’s known him for half a year already, but she continues to reject him. Yuri though, someone who they hardly knew until recently, just asked only a few days after knowing her and she said yes. Even _after_ he betrayed them. _And_ she still allowed him into their class.

Then there’s her excuse. Why she rejects him. Because Sylvain’s a student. Yeah, and Yuri’s also a student. _Was_ still a student even before he got added to her roster.

Have they fucked yet? Considering how suave and crafty Yuri is, he wouldn’t doubt it. Especially after Dorothea told them she saw him in Byleth’s room in the morning last week. And when asked if anything happened the night before, Byleth ignored answering.

What makes him so special, this stranger? Is it his rare Crest? His street smarts? His mysterious persona? His combat ability? His beauty?

_I have all of those things too. What makes me so inferior to him?_

But he keeps his smile on, trying to ignore that.

“Come on, Professor,” he says with a light laugh. “Playing around with girls is the most fun a guy can have! Besides,” his smile is starting to strain his cheeks, “I don’t care what you think of me.” _Lies, Gautier_, a tiny voice pricks from the back of his mind. “I don’t intend to change how I live my life.”

Byleth frowns a little now, and even her brow furrows. A small part of him doesn’t like that she’s becoming more expressive. But then when she smiled for the first time a few days ago, her whole face just… lit up. He’s never seen a lovelier smile, so sincere and content.

And she looked so much more beautiful than she normally does. Knowing that he was part of the reason why she smiled was—

“Even if you hurt other people in the process?” she asks.

Her adorable smile disappears from his mind. “In case you haven’t noticed, Professor, I’m a good-for-nothing. But I’m also still a noble with a Crest; that’s all anyone cares about. Best to avoid getting too serious with fools like that. It only leads to trouble.”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, he goes on with, “I’m gonna be forced into an arranged marriage with some noblewoman anyway after I graduate.” He shrugs for emphasis. “Might as well have all the fun I can before then, right?”

She’s still frowning at him, but now she looks like she’s pitying him. Why would she ever feel that way? She doesn’t know what it’s like. She doesn’t have to deal with this crap. Have her life dictated over some magical sigil.

“You know,” he starts, just as she’s about to open her mouth, “it’s still kind of weird you grew up your whole life not knowing you had a Crest. A really rare and powerful one too.”

“My father didn’t know I had one until it was revealed to me at the monastery,” she explains. “And if he did, that’s stuff we’ve never care about. Even now, it rarely crosses my mind.”

Of course it wouldn’t.

“I see. Suppose a mercenary wouldn’t be concerned with things like that.”

Byleth nods. “But I’m also a commoner, so I doubt it would’ve mattered anyway. That hasn’t been your experience though, has it? Since you’re a noble. House Gautier is the third most powerful in the Faerghus aristocracy, with the Blaiddyd royal family being at the top, and then House Fraldarius following in second, right?”

“Yeah. But it’s not just a Kingdom nobles thing.”

He explains most children in these high-ranking families are tested upon birth to see if they have Crests. And even if a family is a descendant of the 10 Elites, they still can’t be legitimate heirs without one. Which, unfortunately, means children are only genuinely accepted if they bear that sigil.

As a result, a majority of the leaders from noble families all around Fódlan keep having children until they get one (or several) with a Crest. And because of that, then the children are taught to think this is how things must be done as the head of a noble house once they’re grown. Even if that means they have to breed below their station in order to get the ‘perfect’ baby, especially if there aren’t any nobles of appropriate age to have children with. (And it’s happened more times than anyone would like to admit.)

The vicious cycle continues indefinitely.

“Do you get it now, Professor? To all these commoner girls, I’m just a trophy. Or rather, a studhorse.”

“You think all these women want you solely for your bloodline?”

“See,” he throws his arms forward, “I knew _you’d_ get it.” He shakes his head, a light huff escaping him. “All these women don’t love me, no matter what their status is in society. They just want the potential rewards of loving me. If I marry a girl, and she gives birth to a child with a Crest, that kid might become the next head of House Gautier.”

Byleth stares down at her boots, and then looks back up at him. “Never knew you felt this way about all that.”

Maybe she would’ve if she ever asked before. Even if it was just as friends. Come on, if she can make time out her day for Claude and garden with Ashe—hell, take a whole damn week to help Yuri on a dangerous mission, why can’t she just… give him even a fraction of that?

“That battle really did affect you,” he hears her mumble.

“Huh? What battle?”

She shifts on her feet before saying, “I wanted to respect your space, but, maybe I should’ve endured you being upset with me if it helped you talk about what happened in Conand Tower. Clearly, you’re not actually okay with everything from that encounter with Miklan.”

“Making assumptions now, Professor?” Not that she’s wrong. But like the adage goes, ‘assuming makes an ass out of you and me’. “My brother’s fate was sealed the moment I was born. With bloodlines getting weaker, there are a lot of people out there like him too.”

Sylvain looks up at the sky. “For ages now, those of us with Crests have been envied and desired, but never for who we are. I understand the value of my blood. Believe me,” he scoffs, “I hate how much I understand it. Miklan made sure I never forgot back then.”

And if he ever needed a reminder, the bruises and fractured bones did a good job of that.

When he looks at Byleth, she’s still regarding him with that sympathetic face. And he hates that it makes him sour. It’s not her fault, sure. But for someone with a Major Crest, it’s just not fair. She can try to understand, but she’ll only ever have an idea of it. Never the actual memories.

“I know better than to dream of being free from this burden,” he says quietly. “I’m used to it by now though. Before, I didn’t think I had a right to live freely. And since I can’t change that, it’s why I do whatever I want now. The end result will be the same in the future, anyway.”

“That’s not true, Sylvain. You do have that right.”

_Oh, so she doesn’t actually get it, does she? If only all of us could be that blissful in ignorance._

His humorless laugh is almost just another breath. “You know what? I’m a bit jealous. As you grew up, you never knew you had a Crest. It never mattered, and even now, it hardly crosses your mind for whatever reason.”

A fire starts to flicker in his chest as he continues, “You were… free. For your whole life. Nobody… pretended to like you.” Even now, people never talk about her Crest. Only about how great she is as a professor, or how strong or skilled. How cool she is. How beautiful she looks. But all because of her, and not because of her blood. And she even overcame being the ‘eerie oddball’ after all these years, apparently, to the point where no one brings it up anymore. To the point where she’s liberated now from everything that used to weigh her down.

It’s that desire—that freedom he so badly wants a taste of, that finally starts to crack his mask.

“I kind of hate you for that.”

She looks at him with wider eyes. Not outright shocked, but still frozen enough in her surprise that she can only stare as he walks closer. Looking innocent, as if she’s confused why he’s saying this. Though why should she be? She very clearly understands the situation from an objective standpoint. But without walking a mile in his shoes, she can only say whatever will placate him, huh?

Byleth just continues to stand there. It makes him grit his teeth as he frowns, one hand in his pocket as he approaches. He reaches out with his other hand, stopping midway, but when she makes no effort to move, he idly takes hold of her chin. And maybe it’s because she’s not smacking him away that he tilts her head up as he looks down on her with a frigid, almost indifferent countenance, that he can feel it within his ribs, freezing over the fractures from his past.

“You were a spoiled brat who should pay for that pretty Crest of yours. Maybe I’ll collect the debt.”

Her big eyes remind him of how he used to look upon his brother. He was just a child, and Miklan would spit out curses at him. Never smiled unless it was with glee whenever Sylvain got hurt because of not-so-accidental accidents. Told him to stop being a ‘pussy’ every time he cried. Grabbed at his jaw with his much bigger hands when he wouldn’t stop his tears, gripping so tight that it was actually painful and it only made him cry more.

A glint catches his eye, and Sylvain sees she’s still wearing the heart necklace he gifted her.

Guilt suddenly claws its way through whatever had frozen over within him. Sylvain jerks his hand back, stepping away from Byleth. Her face still in mute shock as she keeps her eyes on him.

“Ha, gotcha!” he tries to joke, attempting to paste the farce back together. “Wow, you should’ve seen the look on your face just then. Don’t mind me, Professor. After all, ladies love a dark and brooding noble. I’m a pretty good actor, huh?”

“That didn’t sound like acting to me,” she replies quietly.

Byleth looks down at the ground, her fingers coming up to play with the heart charm around her neck. Sylvain frowns, rubbing the back of his head. When he reiterates he was only kidding, Byleth continues to remain silent.

“I don’t actually hate you, Professor. How could I? You’re Byleth! Everyone likes you.”

She looks up at him, brow furrowing in discontent. “Not when I was a mercenary. No one liked me, except my father. Even a lot of the people in his company didn’t like me, not until I had proven myself as a fighter. I was ignored, and left alone often. Or did you forget that I used to be considered ‘creepy’ and ‘strange’?”

Before he can even defend himself, tell her that she overcame that, she goes on to say, “You know, because of the nature of my old job, people have threatened me with all kinds of horrible things. Chop me up into little pieces. Rip my spine out. Promised they’d drown or suffocate me. Gut me like a fish until all my innards spewed out of me. And when I got older, people even threatened to rape me. In very graphic detail. _Before_ killing me. And everyone else who wasn’t an enemy never let me forget how unsettled I made them by just standing there, even when we weren’t on a job. Most of the time it was whispers, but a few bolder ones had the courage to say it to my face.”

She full on glares at him now. “So, in that sense, you’re right. _No one_ ever pretended to like me.”

Oh goddess. “Professor, I’m so—that wasn’t—”

“But you know what? None of them really affected me. I knew I could kill them before they even tried to harm me in those ways. And yet, what you said to me hurts more than any of those things combined.”

He doesn’t know what to say when she actually looks sad, staring down at the ground. “I thought we were friends. Maybe that’s why I actually care what you say. Whatever happened to you in your childhood is no doubt awful, and I’m positive you didn’t deserve it.”

When she looks up at him, she clenches her jaw, eyebrows knitting together. “But that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on _me_, Sylvain José Gautier. And I’m not going to lecture you, because you’re an adult, and I’d expect an adult to know better. But whatever unresolved issues you have, you either find a way to process them, or you get it through your thick skull that other people don’t deserve to be your punching bag until you feel better.”

She unclasps the necklace. Grabbing one of his hands, she holds it out and pours the trinket in his palm. “I don’t think I should keep this; its symbolism doesn’t exist anymore. And I know I’m still naïve to this whole thing, but I’m pretty damn sure friends don’t hate other friends.”

He can only open and close his mouth, staring at his hand and then back at her face.

“You’re not a bad person, Sylvain,” she says. “I _know_ you aren’t. I can see it in the way you help your classmates. How much high regard you have for those in your circle. How much you enjoy spending time with people you care about. The way you protect them in battle. But clearly, I’ve done something wrong for me to no longer count among them.”

“No, no that’s not—”

Byleth shakes her head, holding up a hand. “Save it for when you truly mean it.”

She doesn’t even say bye to him before she walks away, disappearing into the crowd. He tries to go after her, but he quickly loses sight of her among all the shoppers and diners of the evening.

Sylvain sighs in frustration, cursing under his breath at himself. He runs a hand through his hair. The necklace in his palm sits there helplessly, pink heart at the center of the lazily coiled silver chain.

_I fucked up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, ya kinda did, Sylvain.
> 
> Hi I'm back with another chapter! Fanart inspired this one again. The first one is [Byleth's backless top](https://twitter.com/shounenking/status/1172028663304511488?s=19), and this [Sylveth](https://twitter.com/kizokU35/status/1167893741392125958) art I thought summarized the B support pretty damn well. I love Sylvain, and he's my second pair for Bylass, but, that B support, man. That's a hurdle that needs to be overcome before anything realistic can form, imo. Likewise, I don't appreciate people who ignore Sylvain's flaws for shipping purposes, regardless of who he's shipped with. I do however appreciate people who address them believably enough and somehow resolve it with character development. So, that's what I'm gonna try to do here as well.
> 
> Amazing that at the beginning of this chapter he went from horny_grip.jpg, to green with envy. Oof. But that's just the kind of character he is.
> 
> So, I have some bad news. I'm... already panicking with my workload for this semester for a lot of reasons. Because of that, hiatuses will be on and off for the next four months, unfortunately. I am (hopefully) in my final year of uni, so I'm trying to get through that last obstacle course of the track: demanding upper division homework, and building a portfolio for myself. (And then there's still my nerve pain which... hasn't gotten better, but also not worse, I guess? I'm attempting to manage. The little victories, right...? -sad laughter-)
> 
> Next week I'll try to update, although I can't promise anything. But if you want confirmation on whether or not I will, you can always [check my Twitter](https://twitter.com/pnkpchs) to see if I've made a tweet about it, or you can send me a DM to ask. Thanks so much for continuing to support this work, otherwise! I love writing this story, and I'll try to keep up the quality of my future chapters all throughout.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	46. XLVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Because of the hot summer season, Byleth wears a backless top that unfortunately also reveals a bit of side-boob. This unintentionally makes the class embarrassed, including Claude. He tries to ignore her physical charms as he helps her plan out the class' vacation to Derdriu alone. The topic of braiding hair comes up, and Byleth admits she's never worn one. Claude offers to make her a nice braid, which she appreciates. He thinks about how lovely she looks, but quickly snaps of his daze when Byleth notices him staring. He justifies internally that he simply likes seeing her happy. Meanwhile, Sylvain dwells on his hatred of Crests after he discovers Mercedes is yet another victim to them. His anger festers when he sees Byleth in town, someone who never had to suffer because of her Crest. He lets envy get to him, and not only admits he sort of hates her too, but "jokes" about killing her because she's "free". He realizes his mistake too late, and finds out she endured hardships for other reasons. She gives him back the charm necklace in her hurt, and he's left to drown in his guilt.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XLVI ⧽  
  
Land of the Golden Deer

** _14th of the Horsebow Moon, 1180 ━_ **

There has to be some kind conspiracy against her. From someone in this plane of reality, or out of it. Because as soon as her class’ vacation was finalized, she was asked to go on two missions since they’re ‘on the way’.

The first she doesn’t mind as much since it’s Lorenz who asked her. His father sent him a letter about some Alliance lord named Acheron who’s causing trouble over an old border dispute. Wants him to take care of it, perhaps as a test. To see if he’s worthy of inheriting House Gloucester.

But the second was a ‘suggestion’ from Alois and Shamir (mainly Alois): the Eastern Church in the Alliance requested knights from Garreg Mach because merchants are concerned about pirate attacks in Derdriu ports. Apparently there’s supposed to be a large shipment arriving soon of textiles and other goods from overseas that’s meant to be distributed throughout all of Leicester for the coming winter.

When Byleth asked why can’t Duke Riegan just handle it since it _is_ where his house is, Shamir explains that his knights are spread out to other ports in more modestly sized territories that don’t have as many. Reminds her that the Leicester Alliance is the smallest nation in Fódlan, so they have to use their forces wisely.

And well, since they _are_ going to be staying at the duke’s estate, it’s perhaps the least they can do.

To top things off, shortly after accepting these missions, Caspar barreled toward her asking if he could join her class. Word had already spread that she was going to be leaving the monastery again for assignments, maybe so the other classes don’t think hers has special privilege in being able to take a vacation.

“You’ve fought bandits in and out of the monastery, just recently a monster too—which Edelgard didn’t _invite_ me to, and now you get to fight _pirates_?! C’mon!” He pumped his fists. “I live for this stuff! And the missions our class gets are so boring! They’re just escorting people here and there! We’ve never even gotten attacked!”

“Then how do you know you’re ready for it?”

“‘Cause I’ve been training my butt off for situations exactly like this one!”

While a good kid, Caspar is a bit on the rowdy side. Edelgard had told her as much before. That he just goes off on his own and doesn’t always listen to directions in battle. Not that he gets people killed, but, he’s not exactly a strategist.

Something Byleth repeated to him, about what others have had to say about his ‘techniques’, but left out her sources. He didn’t deny it though, and it wilted his spirit a bit.

“I’m not saying you can’t join, but our class is very small compared to your current one. And all the others. We need to be extra cautious as a result. So if you want to be a part of my roster, you need to listen to directions and strategies. Not go running off on your own. If you genuinely think you can do that, then you can join.”

“I will,” he said, looking determined. “I’m not gonna let my friends and innocent people get hurt. I’ll be worth it, Professor, you’ll see!”

Because she at least wanted to give him a chance, she agreed to accept him into her class. (Manuela was very grateful, and said she owes her one.)

Seteth shook his head at her after she submitted the paperwork, but signed off on it anyway. He tried to lighten the mood by saying at least her students will have a lot more combat experience when it’s time for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but that didn’t actually make her feel better.

_What’s the point of participating if they’re all going to be fucking exhausted by the time that day comes?_

After all of that, she’s been running around shopping with the students who offered to help her. Mainly Ashe and Leonie so they can save money. But Raphael also volunteered to carry stuff, though she noted they’d be buying a lot that they’d have to borrow a caravan driver to bring the wares back to the monastery.

Eventually they got everything done, but that means little when they’ll be leaving _tomorrow_.

She sighs and folds her arms on the table, resting her head face-down. At least the library is quiet at this time of the night. Gives her room to breathe, even if only for a little while.

Also gives her time to think. About things she doesn’t actually want to be thinking about. Like Sylvain, and what he said to her yesterday. The way he looked at her, a glimmer of genuine contempt in his eyes. The way his voice sounded. Cold, calm.

Clearly, she reminds him of whatever happened to him in his past. But why the _hell_ would he take it out on her? She hasn’t done anything to him. She thought they were friends. Why wouldn’t he just come to her if he had an issue with her?

Of course she wants to resolve this, but how would that even work if he won’t do his part? Playing it off like he’s joking. Yeah right. Thinking that his musings over him killing her, ‘collect the debt’ were at all funny.

Thinking that someone she cares about would actually… not feel the same.

She doesn’t like that her chest hurts, just the slightest bit. Man, they’re not even involved in any way. Is this how all those girls he rejects feel? But ten times worse?

This isn’t her fault. Or at least, she doesn’t think it is. But Sylvain obviously disagrees. And the way he handled it was a pretty asshole move on his part.

_You humans are so complicated._

_Emotions are complicated._

_Human emotions are. But this is not your fault, Byleth. In that, you are correct. I cannot even think of what you have done to deserve this treatment from him. Though, I am sorry that you are experiencing ache from a strained friendship._

_Pretty sure it was going to happen at some point or another._

Sothis is quiet for a moment before she speaks again, changing the topic. Maybe so Byleth doesn’t have to dwell on this ugly weight in her chest. She appreciates it.

_There is something that has been troubling me._

_About what?_

_The Umbral Beast. The Black Beast._

_What about them?_

_For whatever reason, they feel… familiar. Not who they were, but their forms. Or more like, their kind. The monsters that Hapi called upon too. I feel as if… it is knowledge I should have had._

_Does it disturb you because they’re monsters?_

_Perhaps. I do not know, exactly. But there is something about them that tugs at me now and again. The same way it does whenever I look upon your sword, or the other Relics._

_We’ll figure it out, Sothis. Maybe you can try thinking hard on it?_

_But then I will fall asleep! I always do every time I ponder too deeply on these feelings. Then I miss several key events that happen to you. It is not the same just going through your memories in comparison to experiencing them together. Although, I _could_ do without the ones where you and Claude are alone. It has been occurring more frequently. And… escalating. Ever so slightly, yes, but still advancing all the same._

_This again? We’re friends. Of course we’d hang out a lot the more we get to know one another._

_Like I said before, I am not going to do the work for you. And I am not upset. It is just giving me second-hand embarrassment to see things develop this way._

_What does that even mean?_

“Thought I’d find you here, kid.”

Byleth lifts her head to see Jeralt standing beside the table. “Hey, Father.”

“Burning the wick, are you?” he asks, nodding to all of the papers she has laid out.

“Just going over things.” Byleth huffs and sits up straight. She starts to organize the papers into piles as she says, “We’re gonna have to work for our vacation while we’re en route _to_ our vacation. Feel like there’s faulty logic in there somewhere.”

He looks over the map she has spread on the table, and flips through all of her papers for battle formations and lesson plans. A record of their inventory, recipes to make outdoors for a quick meal, the type of plants and animals that live around—she just wanted to be thorough.

“I’ll help with this,” her father says, setting down the papers.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve finished most things.”

“I meant I’ll help take the weight off your shoulders. I’m coming with you. Got permission to earlier on in the evening.”

Byleth looks up at him, mildly surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I might have to make the return trip a few days sooner than you will, but at least the guys and I can help take a load off with these apparent battles you still have to deal with. You kids deserve a vacation, including you, _kid_.”

“It’s just… you already work a lot. And didn’t you want to spend time with just me? I’m sure my students will want to have me around to enjoy myself with them for most of our vacation.”

Jeralt is quiet for a moment. He looks down at the map, a hand splayed across the corner. Eyes scanning everything, but she notices they linger on places outside of Fódlan.

“Plans have changed,” he says. “Let’s just leave it at that for now. Anyway,” he looks at her, expression neutral, “better get some rest, By. You’re leaving before dawn to cover ground quicker, yeah? Go sleep.”

“You’re right.” She gathers her things, neatly tucking them into her ledger. “I’m going to be on foot with Alois and Shamir so—”

“No you’re not.”

“I’m not?”

Jeralt shakes his head. “Put your things together when you get to your room so they’re ready for tomorrow. We need you to be alert if there’s battle, and you can’t do that if you’re exhausted. Sleep in one of the caravans, like I know your students will be doing.”

“But what about you? You also need rest.”

He grunts. “I’ve been at this a hell of a lot longer than you have, By. Believe me. I’ll be fine.”

When she just stares at him, Jeralt adds quietly, “Just let a father actually be one to his daughter. That’s all I’m asking.”

Byleth huffs silently as she folds the map. “Okay.” She hands it over to him. “Don’t lose it. Claude and I worked hard on our route and editing it to fit our new ‘detours’.”

“I won’t.”

He ruffles her hair and then she walks away, parting with a good night and him with a mundane, “You too.”

Even after she has her things together back in her room, she feels restless. Most nights, she doesn’t dream of anything. But the past few she’s gotten glimpses of their latest near-death experiences. Or for some of her students, very brief flashes of their suffering before she wound back time.

“You must rest,” Sothis tells her, once her belongings are neatly packed on the counter. “You cannot be wary when you are awake otherwise. Drowsiness will tempt you to slumber.”

“I’ll go to bed in a few minutes,” she replies quietly, sipping her tea. This one is supposed to help with her sleep, but it hasn’t worked so far.

Sothis sits on the edge of Byleth’s desk. She stares at her for a quiet moment. “I am here if you wish to share your troubles.”

“I don’t need to; you can read my mind.”

“Reading your mind isn’t always so simple because of how fast your thoughts move from one thing to another. And it is different from being physically silent about them. To speak aloud with someone can alleviate anxieties you may be having. Or concerns. And you know that of which I speak.”

Byleth takes another sip of her tea. “…I saved them.”

“Yes. In this timeline. But that does not mean it is an event that did not occur.”

She sighs, rubbing at her face. Byleth drops her hand to the surface of the desk, staring at the capped inkwell in the little shadowy corner. “Are you telling me that in those other ones, they died for good?”

Her spectral companion looks down at her knees in thought. “Even I do not fully understand these powers of mine. Perhaps those timelines erased once you turned back time. Or they are threads in the wind, and they end there. Or, yes, that life went on, even with those souls you could not save. I cannot give you an answer to something I do not know for certain.”

Sothis glances at her with a tilt to her head. “However, because I care about you, I will not disrespect you by lying to you for your own comfort.”

There’s sense in what she says, but Byleth doesn’t know if she wants to be logical right now. If in those other timelines Linhardt, Hilda, and Ashe really did die permanently—if the Ashen Wolves really suffered slow deaths because of the acid—if Claude really had to live now without his dominant arm—oh goddess, then there’s Ignatz. And potentially the other students who died back in Conand Tower whose deaths she didn’t see or confirm because she halted time as soon as the first happened.

“_Enough_,” Sothis says firmly. Almost a command. “Byleth, look at me.” She does. “To dwell on what has already come to pass benefits no one. In those threads of time, they are potentially gone forever. But in this one, the one where they are all alive and healthy, that is the one you should focus on.”

“…I don’t want to get used to it. Turning back time. Knowing even if they die, I can always undo it, and they’ll be fine.”

“Is that what you want to happen? To be careless with their lives because of this power?”

“No. I don’t want them to suffer at all.”

Sothis cradles her face between her hands. Even for an otherworldly being, she can feel the warmth from them. Making eye contact, she says, “Then do not let it. You already know what you must do in order to prevent this from becoming a reoccurring thing. But Byleth, sometimes, even if you mold them into the finest of warriors, there are still elements out of your control. It isn’t always your fault. You must understand that.”

She looks down at her tea cup. The crushed leaves are gathered at the bottom of the clear, light brown liquid. “Do you think it’s selfish of me? That, the more I spend time with them, the more I wish I wasn’t feeling deeper with each passing day? Because if something happens to them, that I don’t like how much it hurts seeing them die?”

“You were never numb over the lives you have taken as a mercenary.”

“No, but… my students are people I care about. Who I make memories with. They’re a constant in my life, at least they are for this year.”

“Do you dislike having emotions?”

Byleth shakes her head. Running her finger along the cup handle, she says, “I don’t like the negative ones, but even those still make me… content, in a way. They tell me what I dislike. Make me feel more connected to others. That I’m not just some impassive _creature_ who only knows how to eat and kill. And the good ones make me want to feel them again. Pride for my class. Satisfied when I have a delicious meal. Happiness when I…”

When she gets to spend time with Claude. And how much he chats with her. Even when he doesn’t, but simply keeps her company as she fishes while he reads, it makes her feel warm. Happiness when he genuinely smiles. When he laughs. Or even when he’s being a little shit with her or others, and has a smug grin plastered on his face.

“…get to spend time with my students—my friends, outside of the classroom. And they want me there. Just having friends in general.”

She must’ve caught the end of Sothis’s eye-roll since that’s what it looked like, considering her gaze is focused up to the side and her frown is that annoyed kind Byleth is so used to.

But then it disappears after she sighs. “You enjoy developing emotions more than you dislike them, I can tell. Which is a good thing. But with emotions comes the necessity to speak of them with a trusted person, otherwise they may consume you negatively. You are learning how to feel, and that is a good thing. However, it’s understandable if you are uncertain on how to process them.”

Sothis floats away, stretching in midair. “I will not force you to speak of your concerns if you are not ready. But when you are, I will be here. I am simply glad that you are engaging with your emotions, and trying to sort out the truth of what they mean. Now then, let us sleep. We must wake quite early.”

Clapping her hands, she urges, “Come on now. Do not dawdle. Rest. I wish to slumber in peace tonight. I intend to be rested if I am to enjoy your merriment on this seaside leisure.”

Byleth finishes her tea, and then goes to sleep. Sothis poofs away and bids her a good night before all is silent.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


The sky is still dark when Byleth is dressed and ready with her belongings for the trip. It’s light enough to signal the dawn will come in a while, but not enough for the torches to be put out around the monastery.

Andrew is still at his post. She sees him speaking with Jeritza. Strange, she didn’t know he got up this early.

When they spot her, whatever it was they were talking about is over. Andrew smiles at her, though it isn’t as cheery as Anthony’s. “A very early morning to you, Professor! Excited for your trip?”

“Yes. Although I hope everyone gets up on time. Unless I need to go to all of their dorms to wake them.” Maybe she should’ve anyway. But Lorenz was pretty enthusiastic about doing it for her, promising they’d all be ready before the sun rises.

“It’s a vacation. I don’t think any of your students will want to stay behind.”

“That’s true.”

Jeritza has been staring at her for a good solid minute. Before she can mention why he’s concentrating so hard on her, he asks, “Why won’t you spar with me?”

“I’m… sorry? What do you mean?”

“You are strong. Yet you spend an incredible amount of time sparring with your class instead of honing your own skills with someone who is actually up to par.”

“And that’s you?”

He hums, but it sounds neither like a confirmation nor a disagreement. “I have seen you. The way you wield your blade. Those of metal, and the Sword of the Creator. It is… enticing. Almost monstrous.” She’s not going to take that as a compliment. “One day, you and I will battle.”

That’s all he says before he walks away. She notices the heel of his boots are stained with… something. Maybe… red? What is that? He’s too far away now for her to get a closer look.

“He can be unsettling huh?” Andrew asks with a nervous laugh. “Don’t mind him, Professor. All of the faculty have one quirk or another.” He clears his throat, then asks, “How long are you going to be gone for?”

“Most likely for the rest of this month, and maybe even the first few days of the next. Lady Rhea gave me more wiggle room for travel after she found out we’ll technically still be going on a mission.”

She sighs. “It’s going to take time away from my teaching in a classroom. But I suppose with the Battle of the Eagle and Lion coming up, it’s better my class gets experience with different terrain instead of just learning about it through textbooks and chalkboard notes.”

Andrew laughs softly. “Probably. But have fun while you can too!”

“Well,” Byleth huffs, her bangs blowing away from her forehead as a result, “we’ll see.”

The caravans are all loaded and organized in a line in the marketplace. Alois and Shamir are the first to arrive with the knights they’ll be taking. And with their added caravans, it’s a much bigger traveling party than she would like.

“Cyril’s coming along,” Shamir says, nodding to the boy who’s making sure the horses are safely secured to the carts they’ll be pulling. “Figured it’s a good opportunity for me to see if he’s ready for actual combat.”

“He could also use a vacation. He’s a very hard worker.”

“Funny. That’s very similar to what Rhea said. She also mentioned you’d say that once you found out.”

Byleth doesn’t know if that’s supposed to have positive subtext, but she’s going to pretend it’s just a fact of a thing that happened that doesn’t actually have any relation to her.

Jeralt and his mercenaries are all geared up too. Byleth tries to make a light comment about it almost being like the old days, but her father just sighs gruffly.

“Can’t be like the old days if we’ve got official watch with us,” he grumbles, nodding to the knights behind him.

He’s not exactly in a bad mood, but, something about his tone almost makes him seem irritated. _I wonder what’s wrong? If his mood doesn’t improve later, I should ask him about it._

Leonie is the first student to show up, leading her pegasus to the congregation in the marketplace. When she finds out Jeralt is coming, she thanks Byleth even though it wasn’t her idea.

“Now I’ll be able to fight alongside him for real! Thanks for giving me this opportunity, Professor. And no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m not going to get distracted from our goal because of this. You think Captain Jeralt can depend on me if I fumble easily?”

That’s not at all what she was going to say, but Leonie is already walking away to inform the pegasus knights about her own steed.

The sky is brighter now, although the sun hasn’t broken over the horizon yet. By this time, her whole class is finally together. She has them stand in a line near the caravan for transporting their personal affects that aren’t weapons.

As she takes roll, she notices that each student’s idea of planning for a month away from the monastery is different. Some only have bags, while others have a single trunk. And then there are some who have… a lot of both.

“Hilda, is it really necessary to take all of this?” she asks, pointing with the feather end of her quill to the stack of trunks and bags behind the girl. They’re almost as tall as a donkey.

“Of course it is! We’re going to be on the road for two weeks, and one full week of leisure. That’s a lot of uncertainty about what would be the appropriate outfit to wear.”

“You’ll be in your armor while we’re traveling as a precaution.”

“Well _yeah_ but I mean, I also have a skincare routine. And my materials to make my accessories. I have so many ideas for a seaside line and—”

“You can bring two trunks with you, and a bag. That’s it.”

“Professoooor—”

“Unless you just want the bag.”

Hilda huffs. “Fine, okay. But then you’re going to need to give me time to reorganize everything. That might take another hour.”

“Either get this done in thirty minutes, or I will have Balthus go through your things to speed up the process. And he’ll pick out whatever he thinks is best.”

“Okay okay! I’ll hurry. Gosh….”

With a pout, she gets to work sorting everything. Dorothea offers to help, which does in fact speed up the process. For Hilda being lazy, everything in her luggage is meticulously organized that she knows exactly where everything is and has her limits already set. A few knights offer to take her things back to her dorm, and she flutters her eyelashes at them, telling them that would be super swell and that they just made her morning.

As Byleth is supervising everyone’s turn to load up their belongings into the caravan, Seteth walks by, looking over their party. When he spots her, he says, “You look lively for it being so early in the morn, Professor.”

“Caspar—no don’t—Bernadetta, we’re not—Balthus, can you stack those neatly please? Thanks.” She sighs, taking a moment to direct them to organize it in a space saving way so everything can fit. “That’s why I said for everyone to have one medium sized bag of your immediate belongings to carry in the passenger caravan so we don’t have to keep taking these things out.”

Turning to Seteth, she says, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Nothing of importance. You have your hands quite full.”

“That’s my deer for you, but I can’t say that I mind.”

He smiles. “I can tell. By the way, have you seen—”

“Hey, Chatterbox,” Hapi tugs on her sleeve, “something’s moving in there.” She points to the first passenger caravan, one of two, where stacks of blankets and pillows are tucked against the sides. “Was gonna go take a nap ‘cause I need enough sleep so I don’t yawn, but I dunno if I wanna go in there.”

Byleth climbs in instead, looking for whatever was moving. There’s a lump underneath the blankets. She yanks them off and finds, “Flayn?”

“Oh, fish sticks. I just _had_ to scratch that itch on my back….”

Seteth sputters and goes up to them. “Flayn?! What are you doing in there? I have been looking for you since I woke up! Do not scare me like that again, young lady.”

She pouts and sits up. “Brother, I wish to go on this vacation with the professor and her class! It will be near the sea! You know how much I enjoy the view! Pleeease, may I join them?”

“No, we already talked about this. Come out of there this instant.”

Flayn mumbles under her breath as she crawls out of the caravan. Her pout is very pronounced, as is her furrowed brow. “Why won’t you allow me to partake in the fun all the others get to have…? Why can I still not become a student as well?”

“You know why,” Seteth sighs. “And I will not repeat the argument again for the hundredth time.” To Hapi he says, “Thank you for bringing attention to the ‘lump’. I might have never found her otherwise.”

“No problem, Mr. Lettuce.”

And then she crawls into the caravan, taking the blanket that Flayn had used. She grabs a pillow and makes a spot for herself.

Byleth is about to tell her she might be more comfortable once everyone else has their seats, but Linhardt quickly notices the arrangement and says, “Oh, we’re picking spots already? Good. I’m going back to sleep. Move over, Hapi.”

“No way. Get your own spot, Linny. I called dibs on this corner.”

Seteth looks confused as he mumbles ‘Mr. Lettuce’ underneath his breath. Flayn, in turn, giggles. But then it fades, and she stares at the ground, looking like a kicked puppy. (There it is again. She just can’t stop comparing people to precious kicked animals.)

“I don’t mind Flayn joining us,” Byleth says. “There’s enough space for her.”

“See, Brother?!” She tugs rapidly on his sleeve. “The professor doesn’t mind! Let me attend!”

“No is no, and this conversation is over,” he tells her sternly. She huffs and stomps away. Sighing, he says to Byleth, “I know you must be thinking that I am a strict elder brother, but with Flayn, she needs that discipline.”

“I’m not telling you how to raise her, but, she’ll distance herself from you if you don’t give her freedom.”

“Thank you for the advice. I will consider it,” she doubts that, “along with the reasons as to why I am so cautious of allowing her to—,” he shakes his head, “I will not ramble. All I will say is that I wish you and your class well, Professor. We will be expecting your return in about a month.”

He stays by the steps, watching everyone move out. Byleth climbs into the first passenger caravan with her students after Jeralt reminds her to, even showing her the map that he has tucked away safely in his vest. (She brought a back-up one just in case.)

Most of her students fall asleep shortly afterward, which she actually likes. Gives her time to rest, even if she can’t slumber herself. Ignatz is one of the few awake, lightly sketching in his book. Leonie and Constance are up above flying with the pegasus knights, and Lorenz is on his horse beside the caravan. He speaks to her in soft tones about Gloucester territory since that’s where they’ll head first.

She feels eyes on her, and glances across from her to the other side. Sylvain is riding Nyx to pair with Lorenz in guarding the first caravan. He quickly looks away when she catches him staring.

Byleth huffs, reaching for her neck, only to remember the necklace is no longer there. Right. She gave it back to him.

Though she feels his eyes on her again, she refuses to look his way. Instead she leans back against her pillow, humming confirmations every once in a while so Lorenz knows she’s listening to him.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


They enter the south edge of Gloucester territory by midmorning. At this point, Lorenz has taken up lead at the front, with Byleth close behind. He thanks her for this opportunity to showcase his leadership skills, but she simply tells him he knows this area better than she does.

Some knights are left behind to make camp while the selected accompany Byleth’s class to handle this ‘nuisance’ of a lord, as Lorenz calls him. Acheron is a baron who inherited his father’s land when he passed. He’s of the ilk of nobles who will soak up all the splendor, but has absolutely no merits to lead the commoners under their charge.

“You seem really annoyed by this,” Byleth notes.

He huffs. “Professor, it is my very strong opinion that a noble should first and foremost be the protector of their people. To earn the right to inherit their wealth through proper governance of the common folk. Should they not, why, then they do not deserve such a high position.”

“Is that why you’re always trying to be at your best?”

Lorenz laughs, that haughty one she has grown used to now. “But of course! After all, one day I will guide the Leicester Alliance—”

“I’m right here y’know,” Claude remarks.

“—into continued prosperity, so I must do all I can to prepare myself to be a proper sovereign duke. Handling troublesome nobles and putting them in their place is part of that. To dispel Acheron is no doubt a test from my father. Once again, thank you Professor for giving me this opportunity to lead.”

She did indeed draft formations with Lorenz leading one in mind. When she had reviewed it with him yesterday, he was fine with everything. Except for the fact that Claude is in his group.

He protested lightly, but Byleth told him, “You need to get along with all Alliance nobles, don’t you? Claude is of House Riegan. It’d be in your best interest to form an amicable bond now with the current leading house while you’re in close proximity as students. Don’t you agree?”

“…I suppose you make a fair point. For you, Professor, I will,” he sighed; the sound came out mildly annoyed, “make a sincere attempt to—at the very least—tolerate him. But he will be under my critical eye nonetheless.”

“Which is good. I don’t expect you to be lax on him either.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and so it’s how they chose to proceed in battle.

Acheron’s men are all spread out along a modest river, attempting to pass through a fortress which she’s told is one of many in Gloucester territory. This one just happens to be the closest, and bordering the barony that Acheron’s family oversees.

With Jeralt, some of the Seiros knights, and her class, the battle shouldn’t take that long. Alois is guarding the fortress with some of her students (mainly those with long-range abilities) who are watching out for the enemy pegasus and wyvern riders. Jeralt and his mercenaries are on the right-hand side of the bank, with Byleth, Lorenz, and their group on the left.

She’s not actually giving orders—fully intending to let Lorenz prove himself to her. If he can’t do that, then she doubts his father will be satisfied either. At first he’s looks a little nervous when she says she’ll be watching to analyze his skills in authority, but she’s also allowing him to command her if need be.

Perhaps it’s because of the respect he holds for her as his professor that he asks her to guard the healers in their little group instead of bringing her to the front lines. Maybe he’s still apprehensive about commanding her in battle. Playing it safe until he gains more confidence.

Despite his snooty attitude on the daily, he actually gets quite serious when it comes to leading his classmates into the fray. He’s memorized her formations well. He has Raphael, Sylvain, and Balthus barrel into the small group of enemies while he takes on the escaped cavalry from the sides. Felix and Petra snake through the commotion, sweeping their swords low against the vulnerable sides and backsides of several infantry, with Yuri picking up the ones they miss.

Of course, like she suspected, Lorenz does still bicker with Claude.

“I told you to stay in the underbrush!” he says, after he pulls out his lance from the chest of an axe wielder.

“Yeah and then you didn’t give me any other commands. I’m literally your only archer in this formation; all the others are guarding the fort. But I’m also very far away from you and the group. Almost as if on purpose.”

Lorenz grits his teeth as he steers his horse away from a swordsman which Claude shoots in the head with an arrow.

“Missed one.”

“You are _so_ insufferable. Is this how you will lead our class in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion next month? The Alliance as a whole in the future?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you self-appointed yourself as sovereign duke and pretended I don’t actually exist.”

Lorenz growls under his breath, but when he spots Byleth watching him, he unruffles his attitude.

“You are to stay in the rear of our formation,” he tells Claude, “to halt anyone who gets through our front lines. As your expertise is in bowmanship, you will need to be a considerable distance away. Are you satisfied?”

He doesn’t wait to hear a smartass remark. Instead he returns to the front to assist Hilda who is mainly just watching Caspar go ham on their foes. That only seems to aggravate Lorenz who has to pick up the ones Caspar doesn’t see because of his tunnel vision.

_Edelgard wasn’t kidding. Gotta work with him on that to see if I can get him to be more attentive._

Byleth directs Linhardt, Mercedes, and Marianne to cast their healing spells every so often as she keeps an eye on Claude. His expression is neutral, but the way his mouth thins into a line as he’s watching all the others fight ahead is a sure sign he’s peeved.

“You need to work together with him,” she reminds after minutes of no enemies trying to cross the bridge over the bank.

“His idea of us working together is keeping me on the sidelines.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Teach,” he looks at her, an eyebrow quirked, “you’re not actually agreeing with him, are you?”

“No,” she replies with a shake of her head, “but antagonizing him isn’t going to work either. He’s not getting off free; I’m evaluating him, remember. As his professor, it’s my responsibility to report to his father how he did here today. Not utilizing you to your full potential is going against him.”

His frown goes away then, although his expression remains neutral. Byleth continues, “You’re going to lead our class in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Show him you can be relied on. Offer suggestions on how to get a victory. Our goal is to make Acheron retreat, not kill all of his men. But we’re having to since he’s hiding behind them like a coward.”

She places a hand on his shoulder. “Find a way to slip past them. To distract them so a path opens up. How you choose to proceed from there, I’ll leave it up to you, house leader.”

“Will you be watching me?” he asks after a pause, his expression unreadable.

“Of course.”

Claude hones his attention onto their surroundings. Carefully observes the melee in front of them. From the way his eyes are following an invisible path, he’s visually measuring the distance from their current spot to where Acheron hides in the center of his own battalion. The cogs are turning in his head.

She likes how he looks when focused. He appears almost… older, when he’s carefully calculating a plan. Especially here in profile view, seeing the outline of his nose and his lips. The cut of his jaw. The way his eyebrows scrunch together as he thinks. The little hairs on them sticking out.

Part of her wants to smooth them down with her thumb.

“Got it.” Claude’s voice brings her back to attention. “Keep an eye on me, okay, Teach?” he says with a wink and a smile before he’s off to catch up to Lorenz.

From this distance, she can’t hear what they’re talking about. But whatever it is, it momentarily wipes that frown off of Lorenz’s face. Then he’s pulling their group back as Claude dives into the nearby trees and bushes.

The fortress knights they were allowed to bring on their side line up in an obtuse arrow, their big shields in front of them. Lysithea and Dorothea cast fire magic over their formation in continuous bursts, falling from the sky like a landslide.

It scatters the remaining enemies, but the knights then split up their formation in half, pushing them closer and closer to the wall of fire as weapons bounce off their shields. Lorenz and Sylvain run ahead through the opening on their horses with Balthus, Raphael, and the others following after them.

Byleth takes that cue to lead her healers through the pathway as they quickly run along the grass to meet up with the others.

Claude catches up to her, shooting his arrows at stray enemies trying to attack her blindspot as she guards her healers across the other side of the bank.

When Acheron sees them coming, he commands his battalion to charge after them. Unfortunately for the man, the draw bridge on the other side lowers, and Jeralt and his men pour in from the right. With a panicked shout, Acheron has half of his soldiers sicced on her father, but she knows they’re easy pickings against the Blade Breaker and his band of mercenaries.

That leaves her class to disarm or injure the rest who are guarding their cowardly lord. Claude leaves her then, taking out a padded arrow that almost looks damp with something… sticky.

He shows it to Lorenz, twirling it between his fingers, and Lorenz calls Lysithea over.

Byleth watches from a distance, being an extra pair of eyes for her healers for anyone who needs mending to. Acheron shoots blasts of fire magic at them, keeping her melee students at bay. Lorenz tries to counter them with his own casts, but he’s still not practiced enough to utilize spells on horseback. He misses most of them, and so resorts to his lance again, getting close to Acheron once before he’s jerking his horse back, barely saving them from the frozen spell of Blizzard. It creates a large chunk of ice on the ground where they were just seconds before.

This Acheron person taunts Lorenz, apparently not recognizing who he is. There’s some banter she can’t hear, but it doesn’t infuriate her student. He just looks annoyed. Almost rolls his eyes.

She wonders if it’s at that horrendous hairstyle. Acheron’s blond hair is styled in two large curls, one on either side of his head. Hair parted in the middle and swept to the left side of his face. His mustache is moderately thin and curled at the ends.

Byleth isn’t at all in the know when it comes to fashion, but she has to wonder if nobles are as aware of it as they claim to be. _He looks like a one-note villain from a fictional novel._

Claude hides behind the first ice chunk as Lorenz continues to dodge Acheron’s blasts. Alternating between fire and ice magic has his horse essentially hopping around. But Lorenz keeps going, not even really trying to attack anymore, and that’s when Claude notches the padded arrow into his bow, pulling back the string as he takes aim.

When Acheron’s back is to him, Lorenz shouts, “Insect!”

The arrow goes flying, striking the back of Acheron’s head. On impact it bursts and covers the top part of him in oozing liquid and—

“Is that honey?” asks Linhardt from beside Byleth.

“Lysithea,” calls Claude, “now!”

She’s hiding behind another ice pillar as she casts a more benign Swarm Z in Acheron’s direction. Insects from all over start to congregate, the buzzing so loud that it distracts everyone’s attention to it, including Acheron’s.

He screams as the bugs gather on his shoulders and head, flying around him as they all look for a spot to snack on. Beetles mostly, and some with _very_ large mandibles. But there are also several bees and wasps around too. Acheron tries to shoo them away, but that only irritates them and they begin to bite at his clothes and sting his face.

A muffled cry of, “Retreat!” comes out of the chaos. He’s spitting, screaming about the bugs trying to get into his mouth because of it, and runs away. Whatever soldiers remain go after him. The bugs continue to follow even into the distance on the dirt path. Byleth wonders when it’ll wear off.

Claude laughs, and she sees Lorenz shake his head, but a ghost of a smile appears on his lips nonetheless.

With everyone regrouped, he rides up to Byleth. “Well, that is that. Acheron has been dealt with. I doubt he will return here, so we can continue on our way. The Gloucester soldiers stationed here will take care of the cleanup. Professor, thank you for your help.” He turns to the class. “And to my peers as well! You have all conducted yourselves properly, though I suppose that is both a testament to your skill and my leadership qualities,” he preens.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” Byleth asks him. “This person helped you out considerably, I’d say.”

Lorenz grumbles a sigh, shoulders slumping only for a brief second. He makes a face at Claude, who has his arms crossed and is grinning smugly, almost ear to ear. He wiggles his eyebrows up, and Lorenz grits his teeth, hand tightening on the reins of his horse.

“Yes, and thank you to… _Claude_, in particular.” He huffs silently and regains his posture. “I will admit, your tactic seemed childish at first, but… it met the objective. We weren’t aiming to kill him after all. Thank you for your… suggestion. It did aid us decently in the end.”

“See,” Claude pats Lorenz’s knee who shakes him off, “now was that so hard?”

When some others asked what happened (since they were too busy fighting to notice) Claude explains he used a padded arrow filled with honey to attract bugs. Summertime has a lot of them, and with a less powerful Swarm Z spell from Lysithea, it was sure to at least chase off Acheron once the insects would have honed in on him from the sweet scent. It’s an option he considered the night before, and so made a bag of honey at the end of a blunt arrow when they set up camp earlier.

“At the very least, it still would’ve temporarily blinded him so he could be apprehended,” Claude notes. “But the first plan worked out, so all is still well.”

“Do you see what you can accomplish when you work together?” Byleth tells him and Lorenz. The latter looks away and Claude turns his attention to one of the ice chunks, noting that it’s melting in a vague shape of a horse head.

“Boys?”

“…Yes, Professor. You are right. This was indeed a valuable learning experience.”

“You made points today, Teach.”

Lorenz clears his throat. “In any case, I must report back to my father. Our estate is not too far from here actually. About an hour away. As thanks, I am sure my father would not mind letting us rest there for a while. We can stay until after lunch, and then continue onward so we make decent time to Derdriu by the end of the week.”

Everyone follows him back to the fort. Jeralt from a distance only nods at Byleth before leading his men away.

Claude walks with her in the rear. “Y’know, you were giving this chance to Lorenz, but I still feel like you made sure to involve me as much as possible.”

“Even if this was his mission, you’re still our house leader. My job as a professor is to prepare you to be the sovereign duke. Although… I’m not really sure how I’m doing on that front. But I’m trying my best.”

“And hey, that’s all anyone can ask for, really. I’m not blaming you or anything.”

“No, I know. I just—,” her eyes widen, “you’re bleeding.”

He has a fresh cut along his forearm. A thin red line that seeps lightly. A minor fix, but one she immediately tends to. Claude tells her he probably got it from an arrow that missed him, so it’s not really a big deal. But she forcibly rolls up his sleeve anyway, much to his surprise.

She casts healing magic over it, careful in tracing the path to mend it so it doesn’t scar too much. It’s indeed a minor infliction. Once it closes, there isn’t a hint of it left except for the blood that had already been there.

Byleth wipes it away with her sleeve. Goes over her work with two fingers, brushing them over his skin. She’s never admired it before, but, it really is a lovely tone of brown. He’s warm underneath her touch as she traces her fingers to the bend of his elbow, and back down again to his wrist. She brushes over the vein there.

To think, had she not had Divine Pulse back in the tunnels of Abyss, he’d be missing such an important limb. Wouldn’t be able to become an archer anymore. It might make things harder for him in the Alliance court too. She can’t be so careless next time. Otherwise, he might really—more than just a limb will be—but no, no it’s fine because there isn’t a mark anywhere indicating that it had been sliced off in that other thread of—

“Teach.”

“Huh?”

Claude’s frowning slightly, though he has a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “You zoned out. You okay? Or is my arm really that interesting?”

She pulls away if burned, feeling heat start to settle in her chest. “Oh, sorry. I just—,” she shakes her head, “let’s get back to the others.”

Though he’s quiet as he walks beside her, she knows he keeps stealing glances toward her. She really hopes that he doesn’t ask why she spaced out. But knowing him, with his insatiable curiosity, he’ll get it out of her sooner or later.

Especially considering she was touching him like that. _Why_ was she? That’s not appropriate. Surely, she must’ve made him uncomfortable.

So then… why does she want to run her fingers along his soft skin again? To trace the firm curve of muscle along his forearm, and maybe even higher past his bicep?

_I’m just worried over him because of what happened in Abyss. That has to be it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I won't be able to include every paralogue in this fic, I at least aim to write in the ones involving a Golden Deer unit. With Lorenz's in particular, I feel like it wasn't all that important in terms of the overall plot, but, at least it properly introduces Acheron for when the cast has to deal with him again during war phase.
> 
> Using Divine Pulse so much is starting to haunt Byleth. Oof. I'm gonna do my best to write this believably, so, I hope it makes sense. Even though 3H has a lot of lore, I'm glad some of it is left up to interpretation, like how the time turning works exactly. Does it just exist in one timeline? Does it create multiple timelines? Does Byleth still exist in those after she turned back time? Etc.? Lots of different possibilities.
> 
> Next chapter is gonna be more Byleth-centric again, but with a little Claudeleth moment thrown in there too.
> 
> Hmm, I think this is one of my shortest A/N ever, or the shortest one so far. That's not gonna last, probably. LOL Hope you're all doing well. 💕
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> **Edit:** Oh geez, I can't believe I almost forgot. It'll be the one-year anniversary of this fic on Sunday, the 20th! Thanks for reminding me, Stony_616! And thanks to all you lovely readers out there for your views, comments, and kudos! Can't believe it's been a whole year already. And we're barely half-way through pre-timeskip, at 46 chapters. LMFAO Thanks so much for continuing to support this work, folks! It means so much to me! I hope you'll continue to enjoy this fic throughout the remainder of its duration! 🥰💖


	47. XLVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The story so far...**
> 
> Byleth has a chat with Sothis the night before their expedition to Derdriu. She can't help but ponder on the power of Divine Pulse, her developing emotions, and how worried she is that she'll get used to just turning back time with every mistake on the battlefield. But Sothis manages to reason with her before they're off to bed. On the way to their vacation, Byleth & company take a detour into Gloucester lands to deal with a noble named Acheron. She gives Lorenz the opportunity to lead the charge, under the condition he utilize Claude somehow to hopefully make them learn to cooperate. It's rocky at first, but they manage to work together to successfully enact Claude's plan: distract Acheron so a honey-filled arrow can douse his hair, attracting hungry insects from a mild level of Lysithea's Swarm Z. After the battle, Byleth mends a small cut on Claude's arm, and gets distracted feeling his soft, warm skin. Admiring it, even. She only pulls away when he calls attention to her odd staring, wondering to herself why she enjoyed touching him so much. And why she wouldn't mind touching him again.
> 
> **Onward.**

#### ⧼ XLVII ⧽  
  
Phantasmagoria

Byleth is thankful that they’re only here at the Gloucester estate for a lunch break because she doesn’t think she can stand the count for more than a couple of hours.

He goes on and on about the history of his family, even taking her through a tour of their manor. One she doesn’t care to go on. She’d much rather join her students who are currently being served several courses of lunch. Her only saving grace is Lorenz being here with her, doing most of the talking in her stead.

Which is perfectly fine.

“And that about covers everything,” Count Gloucester finishes. “Is our home not the most immaculate of splendors, Professor Byleth?”

“It is,” she lies. She was never one to care for decadence. And the Gloucester family has a lot of it. Gold accents and rose motifs everywhere. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a home this grand before.” _Or gaudy_.

“Yes,” the stout man straightens his back even further, “not many others of the aristocracy can say they have such an abode as mine. Or claim that their rose garden is the most lush!”

They’re guided to a separate room by a butler, one much smaller than the dining room where the class is eating on the first floor. On the ceiling is a fresco depicting roses in soft hues. Sunlight enters through tall windows with a balcony that overlooks the garden blooming with—of course—more roses. Next to this window is a table set with lunch. A woman stands beside it, expression cordial if not neutral.

“Ah, dearest.” Count Gloucester waddles over to who Byleth assumes is his wife, and Lorenz’s mother.

Which her student confirms, informing that her name is Helena. She’s thin, and much taller than her husband, which is where Lorenz probably got his height from (as he gets his hair from his stout father, except it’s surprisingly less offensive than that of the short man’s).

“This is our son’s professor at Garreg Mach,” the lord introduces, “Miss Byleth Eisner.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she replies with a slight nod. In turn, Byleth curtsies the best she can. Something Lorenz told her is a thing his father gets nitpicky about, and she’d rather not hear him complain. “Please, sit. We would like to have a conference over lunch about how our dear Lorenz is faring in his studies.”

“M-Mother?” he starts nervously. “Were my frequent letters of progress reports not sufficient?”

“It’s different hearing it directly from the source,” she says, scooting into her chair. Byleth notices the count didn’t pull it out for her, but a maid instead.

“Ah, I… I see.” He clears his throat, looking to Byleth. “Professor, do not hold anything back for my sake. I can only improve if you are honest about my performance.”

Lorenz pulls out a chair for her, which she doesn’t think is necessary. But her student does like to be proper, so she lets him without fuss. Helena eyes the scene quietly, giving a subtle glance to her husband (who is distracted talking to the butler) before she focuses back on them.

The table they’re sitting at holds six people. Count Gloucester is at the head with the countess to his right. Lorenz is seated on his other side, and Byleth right next to him. A round table would’ve been better, she thinks, but she’s starting to see very clearly where Lorenz’s pompous attitude comes from.

One that she’s glad is subduing the longer he spends time in a class with peers of mixed status. A part of her feels proud she can bring him back down to reality. And maybe even a little doubtful he would’ve come this far if he had someone else as his professor.

She’s honest when asked about his progress. What his learning goals have been (mainly horseback riding, lancefaire, and reason magic) and how far he’s come with them. Byleth tells them of his marks for exams and homework, with him being in the upper ranks of her roster since he takes his studies so seriously.

“Wonderful to hear,” the count says before taking a sip of his wine. “He is at the top of the class, I assume?”

“Lysithea is,” she replies.

“Ah, yes. Ordelia’s daughter. She has always been exceptionally bright for her age. I suppose that is understandable. Surely, though, Lorenz is close behind.”

“He’s actually third. Claude gets the second highest marks in my class.”

She absolutely doesn’t miss the twitch of the man’s eye at the stated fact. But he collects himself, giving a cordial smile as he cuts more of his food. “Yes, the young Lord Riegan. To be the future sovereign duke by… inheritance.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to say. She’s never been good at speaking with nobles. That’s why she always kept silent when Jeralt would take the company to an estate of the aristocracy. He was probably able to handle it because he used to be a Knight of Seiros. But her… blunt attitude, especially before she firmly developed more emotions, would’ve cost them jobs if she spoke.

Now, though, she’s a professor. To noble children. She doesn’t want the count to somehow reprimand Lorenz when he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“I am making sure Claude remains in line, Father,” he assures when Byleth is quiet for too long.

Count Gloucester harrumphs, mouth wilting into a frown. “And how is… young Claude doing, Professor?”

“Like I said, he’s second in the class in terms of grades. But he’s also becoming proficient in a lot of weapons and other skills. He learns pretty quickly, but so does your son. I think if they work together, they can accomplish a lot.”

“Is that so?” He looks to his child. “Tell me of how the encounter with Acheron went.”

Lorenz gives a report of their battle. Says he requested aid from Byleth and the class in order to dispatch him quickly and cease the strife. Much to her surprise, he also mentions the victory was sound when he and Claude worked together to stop him.

“I see.” The count swirls the wine in his glass, watching the liquid dance along the transparent sides of the cup. “Later in the week, I will deal with that man over the intricacies of the border disputes. But this should make him think twice of trying to cause a fuss when there is no need to.”

Glancing at Lorenz, he says, “I had hoped you would have taken care of him on your own.”

Sitting up straighter than before (for someone with impeccable posture already), he replies, “Yes, I understand, Father. However—”

“Lorenz worked hard,” Byleth cuts in. “I gave him an opportunity to lead his classmates as I hung back to assess his techniques. At first he struggled a bit, but then he quickly got the hang of things. He made the decision to accept counsel from Claude, and that’s why the baron was chased out in the end. Lorenz made a wise choice with the methods at his disposal.”

“Accept… counsel, did he?”

Byleth steels her nerves before she continues, “Part of my class’ curriculum is to teach them how to effectively work as a team. Lorenz would have earned a fail in this trial if he refused to. In battle, you absolutely need to trust your teammates to carry out their tasks, otherwise things will go south. He chose to trust Claude’s judgement, and so was able to dispel Acheron.”

“It was a childish suggestion at first,” Lorenz clarifies. He tells Count Gloucester of Claude’s technique that won them the victory. Neither of his parents seem amused, but his father less so. “Ultimately, I am glad I… took this chance to listen to him. To ascertain his merits as a combatant and strategist. And, as I was, in fact, in charge of our assault against Acheron, it was my duty to listen to suggestions when offered.”

His father stares at him in silence for a moment, before turning his regard to Byleth. “Professor, who would you say has grown the most in their skills of authority thus far? My son, or Claude?”

“Claude is the house leader,” she calmly reminds, “and the future sovereign duke. I need to make sure he’s ready to take up that mantle by the time he graduates. But a leader can’t lead citizens or troops without trusted advisors and generals. It’s why I’m also making sure Lorenz gets his opportunities to prove to me he can guide others effectively.”

“And do you think my boy will be an adequate leader?”

She wonders if he’s purposefully not clarifying exactly _what_ he is to lead. If he means the Alliance, she doesn’t know. This isn’t her area of expertise. So, instead, she says, “If Lorenz keeps this up—continues to cooperate with his classmates of all backgrounds—I feel he’ll be better equipped to oversee Gloucester territory. As for what the future holds after that, I can’t say.”

Helena stares at her, having been mute until now. “Professor, might I ask how old you are?”

“Currently, I’m twenty. I know my age might be worrisome since I’m teaching a class of people who are as young as I am, but there’s no one I’m stricter with than myself to make sure I don’t fail them.”

“That isn’t why I asked, though it is reassuring to hear. I inquired because I am sure you are aware that children of the aristocracy must look for suitable partners once they are of age. Nothing that concerns you, of course, as commoners marry whoever catches their fancy. But we, of course, are still looking for a future wife for our son. He’s nineteen already.”

“Mother,” Lorenz clears his throat, “you make it sound as if that is a decrepit stage to be in.”

“It is the perfect age to wed,” she corrects. “Have you found a young lady to court yet?”

“Regrettably, I have not.” Byleth chooses to stay silent on the complaints he racks up from female students telling her to tell _him_ to stop bothering them with his ‘noble breeding’ nonsense. “But that isn’t a topic that the professor should trouble herself with.”

A part of her feels like, even if she did tell his parents about the complaints, they’d still take it in stride. Try to make him feel better instead of reprimanding him for being that way.

“Well, should you not find one before you are twenty-five, I’d wager your professor would make an adequate wife.”

Byleth stares at her with wide eyes.

Lorenz, however, grows red in the face at the suggestion, sputtering his protests. “That is not—! Oh, goodness. Professor, please forgive—this isn’t how I thought the conference would—”

“Helena, for the goddess’s sake.” Count Gloucester throws a disapproving look at his wife. “We have already discussed this.”

“None of our missives on marriage arrangements have been successful thus far with the noble ladies. And if he cannot make proper connections while he is enrolled at the Officers Academy, we will have to look elsewhere. Does it matter if the professor is of common birth? She is inheritor of the Sword of the Creator—that itself is already stupendous enough.”

“This is inappropriate, Mother, Father!” Lorenz exclaims. “We are not here to discuss my matrimonial prospects to my instructor, of all people. She is my professor, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for her, so this sort of conversation is highly uncalled for!”

“Herman,” Helena says to her husband, “we must keep our options open. Does she not have the beauty of a noblewoman and the strength of a general? The mind of an advisor?”

“I’m flattered you’re even considering me for something like this,” Byleth says, except she really isn’t, “but I thought I was here to discuss Lorenz’s progress in class. Not to be evaluated as a potential wife.”

“Yes of course, Professor,” Count Gloucester agrees. “Forgive my dear Helena. She is a bit headstrong at the most inopportune moments.” His wife gives him another sharp look. “Enough of that nonsense, now. Surely a commoner like yourself wouldn’t be comfortable with elevated status, seeing as you are used to a simple routine. Even if you are of remarkable beauty and talent, that doesn’t change many other things, so there is no need to fret over worrisome thoughts brought upon by my wife’s musings.”

He says it with a smile, as if it’s a compliment. (It’s not.) Helena gives him a frosty look before going back to her meal. Lorenz has his head in his hands, no doubt embarrassingly exasperated by his parents’ meddling.

Byleth just wants to get the hell out of here.

Thankfully, the conversation doesn’t last much longer. The topics are kept to Lorenz’s studies and how Byleth plans to teach while on a ‘vacation’. Once she’s dismissed, and out the doors, she hears the count chastise his wife about the absurd notion that a commoner could ever be an adequate partner to a noble, especially their only son.

“Professor,” Lorenz starts as he escorts them down the hall, “please forgive me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Lorenz,” she replies without looking at him.

“No, perhaps not. But I must apologize in my parents’ stead. Both my mother and my father were quite rude to you in their own ways.”

She wants to ask why he didn’t stop them, but she doubts it would’ve mattered. She can see now why Lorenz is the way he is when he first got to the Officers Academy. Pressure from his parents to uphold some kind of ‘standard’ of quality in his status. Both the count and his wife seem pretty overbearing.

“It’s whatever,” she says with a shrug. “Status and stuff never mattered to me, and still doesn’t.”

“Yes, I know. Regardless, that does not mean you should be treated with disrespect because you are a commoner.”

Byleth is quiet all the way to the dining room. Before they enter to join everyone else, she turns to Lorenz, blocking his path from opening the door. He gives her a mildly surprised look. “Professor?”

“Can you promise me something, Lorenz?”

“Of course. I will do my best to uphold it.”

“Promise me,” she says in a quiet voice, “that you’ll be a better count than your father. A better noble. One who’ll help mend the Alliance instead of fracturing it further.” A better person, but she doesn’t want to talk about that man any more than she must. “Will you promise me that?”

Lorenz nods, and gives her a polite bow. He smiles when he says, “Your faith in me will not be misplaced. I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, will continue to strive to become my best self. You have my word, Professor.”

“Thank you.”

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


Byleth slips as she runs, landing on her side and hurting her arm. Her good arm. The sword-wielding one. Trying to move it is painful as she rolls onto her back. The Sword of the Creator suddenly feels heavy in her grasp.

She stands on shaky legs, her boots stepping on something wet. She looks down, and the floor is crimson. Her reflection stares back at her over a shimmering veil of blood on the ground.

“Come on,” she says as she tries to lift her sword. But it weighs a ton, and the harder she pulls, the closer the sound gets. Of creaking, whirling, the buzz of light.

There’s a golem’s silhouette in the far distance. She sees the glowing eye slits from its helmet. The metal creature wields two spears of light, one in each hand. Repeating its commands of annihilation over and over in that distorted voice.

When Byleth looks at her sword again to tug on it, she yelps and jumps back. Her breath escapes her as she sees Linhardt lying there, the Relic deep in his chest.

“Profes… sor,” he wheezes, reaching out a hand to her. Blood spills over his lips as he looks at her. “Please, help… me… it… hurts… so much….”

Byleth steps back, and something squelches underneath her boot. She looks down, and her voice is lost when she sees a mound of flesh underneath the leather sole.

“…Pro… fes…”

She turns around to see a mush of bones and innards. Stray locks of pink hair. A single eyeball, half lidded, and half of a mouth as Hilda’s voice comes out of it in breathy pants.

“…Why?” is all she hears before she sprints away.

_No, no I saved them. I did I—_

She trips, falling on her sword arm again and she cries out at the pain.

Then she’s crawling away, jerking back when she sees it was Ashe’s body that she fell over. He sits up, staring at her with cloudy green eyes. The hand axe sticks out of his head. Until it keeps slicing through, and then it falls, taking the back half of his skull with it.

There’s so much blood. The little fleshy curls of his brain mix with it. She can’t help but stare at him. Nothing comes out of his mouth except, “Pro… fes… sor….”

She feels cold as she steps away, catching a glimpse of the side of his head still attached to his neck before she runs. The Sword of the Creator appears again, stuck in the crimson ground, and she yanks at it, trying to dislodge it but she can’t.

Byleth grits her teeth as she pulls and pulls, even bracing one foot on the damn thing. The sword pops out, goes flying out of her hands and slices through something solid, with a cry she remembers—one she didn’t want to hear again.

Claude is there when she turns around, missing his right arm. It bleeds heavily, severed from the bicep, down. The limb lays there with the sword next to it. He picks it up, stares, and without looking at her says, “These things happen, right?”

“No, no I fixed it—”

“Did you?” he questions, expression blank, meeting her eyes. “Or am I real? Stuck in that thread of time, permanently crippled like this? Do you think it would’ve happened if you had trained me better?”

From the floor rise tendrils of crimson and black energy. The ground plane between her and Claude extends and extends until she can’t reach him or the sword. The tendrils pierce the ground like thorny vines, blocking her path.

“It’s okay, Professor.”

She jerks to her right when she feels a hand on her shoulder. It’s Ignatz with broken lenses and a weak smile on his face. There’s a gaping hole in his torso that’s frayed at the edges with flesh and muscle, with part of his smaller intestine hanging out of it.

“You didn’t know any better, right?”

Byleth tries to say she’s sorry, but nothing comes out. The reflection of the sword is beneath her and she tries to grab at it, only to see it encased in a block of crimson. She scratches and digs, but only damages her fingers until they bleed. The dagger at her hip turns to rubble when she tries to stab it through the block.

There’s a breath on her head, so strong that it swishes her bangs away. When she looks up, she’s staring at the vacant sockets of the Umbral Beast.

“sI… tRi…,” it moans, rising up from the crimson floor as blood drips down its body. When it moves its wings from its sides, four people fall out of it, plopping together on the ground.

The Ashen Wolves stare up at her, the life half-gone from their eyes. The sickening smell of burning flesh floats in the air. The ugly sound of acid sizzling as parts of their bodies are eroded. Constance especially haunts her, with most of her face red with blood and burnt flesh, with little areas of white where the bone of her skull is starting to show through.

Byleth jolts. Bloody hands are holding her shoulders, and Rhea is staring into her eyes. Her legs are gone from the knee down, and the flesh from her hands is melting away, the skeletal fingers poking through.

“Run,” she breathes out, breath ragged. “_Run_.”

And when she doesn’t move—can’t move, the Umbral Beast’s head hovers over her. Grows bigger and bigger. The fur around its neck parts to reveal a mouth with several rows of jagged, sharp teeth. Opens wide and swallows her whole.

“Si… TrI… mInE…!”

She falls into the blackness of the expanse, landing on her dominant arm yet again. Hears the bone crunch as she cries out in pain, tears threatening to prick at her eyes. She forces herself to stand, wincing as her right arm just dangles there, the pain hot and throbbing from her shoulder all the way down.

The Sword of the Creator is a few feet away from her. Glows in its ethereal orange light against a black void. She walks toward it until the light gets sucked into the hole on the guard. It burns red, and the rest of the sword disappears.

Replaced by it is an eye socket. In the center, a crimson orb suddenly lights up, moving as it watches her back away. The inky darkness of the void peels away from it, revealing a reptilian head as it stalks closer and closer on all fours, until she’s before the Black Beast once again. There are chains protruding from its maw that snake down onto the ground, vanishing to a point she can’t see.

Byleth bumps into something behind her.

She immediately jerks away, out of the path from the Black Beast, only to see Sylvain staring at her. The chains from the monster are connected to him. Wrapped around his limbs, and his neck. The Crest of Gautier glows at the center of his chest.

His expression is as cold as his voice when he says, “Time to pay up, spoiled brat.”

The dagger is missing from her belt, and the Sword of the Creator is nowhere to be found. Byleth doesn’t want to fight him. She doesn’t even know why a part of him hates her. Or maybe, all of him does. Over Crests, most likely, but how is that either of their faults? Especially her own?

At this point she can only grapple with assumptions, and him if he tries to hurt her. But he doesn’t lunge at her, only walks calmly forward, the Black Beast behind him. Growling as it prowls but doesn’t make a move to eat him up.

Something at her neck tickles, and she sees the thin chain with the heart charm there. Her first instinct is to touch it, but even that momentary split-second distraction costs her.

“They’ll forgive you,” Sylvain says as her throat feels tight. The chain grows bigger and bigger until it constricts her chest. Snakes up to his arms, entwining with the chains already there, pulling him closer. The chains lead his hands to settle themselves around her neck.

And he squeezes. Presses with the pads of his fingers. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

“Of course they’ll forgive you. You’re Byleth with the Crest of Flames. You can do anything, make any mistake, and they’ll forgive you. Even if they have to die over and over until you get it right.”

She tries to say, “No,” but nothing comes out as he squeezes harder. His face is impassive. Normally warm brown eyes are now frozen over as he looks down on her, shadows blocking out the planes of his face.

“You want to hurt me, don’t you, Professor? Just like all the rest. Go on, kill me. Not like it’ll matter when you can make it so it never happened. No one but you will know.”

Her vision starts to blur as she tries to shake her head, but she can’t move her neck. His hands are too tight against her flesh. The chain coiling around her body starts to squeeze, hard enough that she gives a muffled cry as a rib breaks. The pink charm cracks and bursts, its particles glittering in the air until they form the Crest of Flames. The remaining shards splinter onto Sylvain’s chest as the chains hang out from it. Threading through his body. Shackling around his ankles, anchoring him in place to the ground.

The hands around her neck squeeze even tighter as the Black Beast looms behind him. It opens its drooling maw, hovering over them. She can smell its breath, like rotted corpses and the metallic scent of blood. The Crest of Gautier burns brighter.

She can’t see Sylvain’s eyes from the shadows over his face. Instead she sees a cruel grin curled on his lips. His voice lined with the subtlest hint of malicious mirth when he speaks, “Come on, Professor, I’m only joking,” before the mouth crushes them both.

Byleth gasps as she opens her eyes.

She first sees the canvas ceiling of the tent. All around the interior is a cool blue, denoting the coming dawn. Maybe within two or so hours. She’s not really sure.

There’s sweat on her forehead as she wipes her hands over her face. She glances around from where she’s laying down. Still in her sleeping top and shorts. In the girl’s tent with her female students. Bernadetta is snuggled close to her, and Hapi is on Byleth’s other side. Hilda is slumbering next to Marianne and Leonie takes the edge of the tent with Petra wedged between her and Dorothea. Mercedes and Annette sleep side-by-side, and Constance is snoozing next to a bundled-up Lysithea.

Looking over to Hilda, she seems so peaceful as she sleeps. No mound of bloodied flesh or a single eyeball within its mass. She’s on her back, pink hair fanned out on her pillow. There’s some kind of green spread covering her face, a type of sleeping mask she said she always puts on before bed. Hapi and Constance are also fully intact. Their flesh isn’t burning from the acid and their clothes aren’t soiled with blood or stains from their innards.

Careful not to wake the girls around her, Byleth slips out from her sleeping roll and crawls over to the tent flap to unbutton it.

The sky outside is indeed still mostly dark, but lighter hues of blue making up the cool ombré up above surely means the dawn will be on the horizon soon. The campfire is out, leaving a mere ashy pit. The people on night watch duty are the only ones around. One in the trees, and two taking their walks around the camp.

Byleth closes her tent and pads over to the boys’ one which is just a few feet away. She can already hear the loud snoring. Her fingers tremble slightly as she undoes the first button of the flap, and so she takes a deep breath before exhaling silently.

_Calm down. No need to alarm them._

She gets a sliver of it open to take a quick look inside. Unlike the girls who are snuggled tight and orderly, the boys’ tent is a mass of tangled limbs, most of them out of their sleeping rolls. Only a glasses-less Ignatz and Ashe are completely within them, both dwarfed by Raphael and Sylvain on their opposite sides—who whether intentionally or unintentionally have their arms draped around their smaller friends. Felix is on his back next to the latter, and Byleth is surprised at how long his hair is. She’s so used to seeing it tied up.

Caspar somehow ended up diagonally, his legs over Raphael with his head resting on Linhardt’s stomach. The taller boy has a few strands of his own green hair in his open mouth; she forgets he ties back the long parts of his locks during the day. Lorenz (who has cotton in his ears) is the only other person within his sleeping roll. He has the edge of the tent, back turned to all of them. On the other edge is the hulking form of Balthus who’s flanking Yuri’s back—and he somehow still looks immaculate even while asleep. Claude is in the middle of all the slumbering chaos, completely out of his sleeping roll as he snoozes on his back, limbs spread out unevenly with his hand resting on his stomach underneath his shirt.

There’s no blood here. No smell of rotting flesh. No split-open skulls. The only noise is their loud snores, not the sizzle of monstrous acid. Just a bunch of her male students haphazardly spread out in their sleeping shirts and shorts. Some are only _in_ their shorts, and when she notices, that’s enough of an incentive for her to leave.

Byleth sits down on one of the boulders around the campfire. The cool air of the early morning hits her sweaty skin as she takes a silent moment to breathe. Reminds herself that this is the reality she’s in. They’re all alive. It’s okay. She just needs to train them harder. If she trains them well then she won’t have to keep turning back time to prevent their deaths. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. She can do this. Nothing will—

She jumps up and swipes her leg underneath the person who touched her shoulder. Swerves on her heel to grab them by the back of their shirt, sending them face-first onto the ground, arm pinned behind their back and—

“Teach! It’s just me!” Claude says from under her.

Byleth immediately moves away and helps him up. “I’m sorry,” she says as she dusts the dirt off of him.

“That’s more on me. I should know better than to sneak up on an ex-mercenary.”

She only hums in response before she asks, “Why are you up?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m a light sleeper. When I heard the flap of our tent being opened, I waited to see what kind of intruder we had. Turns out it was only you checking up on us for… what?”

“Just a habit,” she lies as she sits back down on the rock, not facing him. “You should go back to sleep Claude. We still have about two or three hours before everyone needs to get up.”

She doesn’t look at him. Only hears his steps fading into the background. Byleth sighs, resting her face in her hands. Breathes in, and out. In, and out. She won’t be able to go back to sleep after this. Maybe she can take over the early morning watch so someone currently on duty can get at least a short period of sleep before they’re on the road again.

It won’t be long now until they reach Derdriu. It’s been several days since they departed from Gloucester lands. Yesterday they finished passing through Daphnel territory and made camp last night somewhere over the edge of the Riegan border. They should get to the duke’s estate by mid-morning, or at least by noon.

When she raises her head, Claude is there holding out a cup of water in front of her.

“You look like you need it,” is all he says.

She takes it with a grateful nod, downing the whole thing in one gulp. Instead of going back to his tent, Claude sits next to her on the rock. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Just stares out at the ashy pit which still smells faintly like burning wood. There are flecks of cooked vegetables and fish bones within the gray piles.

“I noticed you started doing that after our mission from Conand Tower,” he begins. “Looking into our tents when we’re asleep. It only happened twice then, but, on this trip, you’ve done it three times, with today being the fourth.”

Claude stares at her, and she can’t help but meet his eyes. He’s not smiling. In fact, he still looks a little sleepy, especially with his hair down and tousled, out of its usual style. The long lock of what would be his braid also just hangs there in strands. She wonders how he would’ve looked if all his hair was that long.

“Y’know you can talk to me, right, Teach? If anything’s the matter.”

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“So then there’s no reason why you look like you were sweating?”

Byleth grips the empty cup tighter. She looks away from him as he gently pries the thing out of her grasp. He gets up a second time and comes back with the cup refilled. She takes it mutely, this time sipping on it, avoiding his eyes.

He doesn’t leave again. Just continues to sit beside her. It’s only when he yawns that she says, “The more I start to… understand what it’s like to feel things, the more I become concerned over everyone.”

Claude still doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t plan to go into too many specifics—she doesn’t want to remember that hellish imagery. But even if sharing a little bit of her troubles will get him to sleep, then that’s what she’s going to do.

“I had… a nightmare. I know this sounds weird, but, I’ve never had them before, until now. I don’t know exactly what caused it,” yes she does, “but I saw some of the others dying. In gruesome ways. Then there’s also what Sylvain said to me the other day—”

“What did he say?”

Shit. Maybe she’s drowsier than she thought. That isn’t something she wanted to discuss with him. She wanted to resolve it with Sylvain and only Sylvain. It’s business between them two.

Then again, when she was having friendship problems with Claude, it was Sylvain she confided in. And it helped. So, maybe, the reverse will also be true. She could also inform Jeralt, but she doesn’t want to trouble him with something so trivial. Not after the whole chaos that was Aelfric.

And so, she tells Claude about the encounter she had with Sylvain, the Saturday before the Monday of their departure. He doesn’t ask questions as she speaks. In her quiet tone, just in case someone is near enough to hear.

“I never knew he felt that way about me,” she says when she’s done explaining. “He flirts with me constantly. And he said we were friends—that I can talk to him if I ever needed to. So for me to find out he sort of hates me over my Crest—has thoughts of killing me… I guess I just don’t know how I’m supposed to take that.”

Claude hums. “I noticed he hasn’t really approached you for anything throughout this whole trip. Or even tried to flirt with you like he normally does. Was wondering why.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the reason.” Byleth sighs, looking at the ashy pit. “He was part of my nightmare, actually. The end of it. And Miklan, in his monster form. Though I’m not afraid of Sylvain or anything, so I don’t know why I had that.”

“You’re probably in shock from hearing such a thing,” he offers. “All these emotions are still new to you, after all.”

“I know, but this isn’t the first time I’ve fought with a friend. Or the first time I didn’t get along with someone who I thought was my friend.”

He makes a huff more along the lines of a tired laugh under his breath. “Well, I was only being an ass back then. I never once hated you, and I definitely don’t have thoughts of killing you either. Fighting with a friend because one’s being insensitive is different than fighting with one who—for some reason—lets their envy twist in such a dark way.”

Byleth only makes a small sound of acknowledgment. She takes another sip of her cup before she says, “I want to fix it, but at the same time, I’m _not_ gonna do all the work for him. He’s a damn adult, and he needs to start acting like it.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong though, Teach.”

“I know, but I can’t have a student hate me if I plan for him to work with others and with me out on the battlefield. A place where the risk of death is always present.”

_I don’t want him to be the reason I have to turn back time again._

Claude looks at the ground, scratching the side of his head as he yawns. For a moment more he’s quiet before he says, “Some people need to learn the hard way for sense to make it through their ears and into their brains. Doesn’t work for everyone, though. And I don’t know enough about Sylvain to determine if that’ll work.”

She turns to him when she feels his eyes on her. Claude pauses before he adds, “However you want to handle it, you need to make him listen to you, one way or another. He doesn’t have to like you as a person, but at the very least, needs to respect you to work effectively with you and the others on the battlefield.”

Byleth nods in agreement. She takes another sip of her water as Claude continues, “I’m gonna be honest: I don’t know if you can be friends with him the same way again. I know you want to be, but, we need to be realistic. Letting hatred fester like that means resolving it will be an uphill battle.”

For whatever reason, his stare hardens at the ground. She wonders what he’s thinking about since the expression quickly disappears from his face. “Not that I think you _shouldn’t_ restore that friendship, Teach. It’d be nice if you could have that again with him. Just don’t want you to get your hopes up and then have them shattered if they disappoint.”

“I know, Claude. And… thanks. I feel a little better after having talked it out.”

He finally smiles at her, though it still looks a little sleepy. “Hey, what’re friends for? And no problem. If things don’t work out though, I can fill that void.”

“How so?”

“Well if you’re so used to him flirting with you, and he no longer does it, I will take up the role of shameless charmer and flirt with you until you feel like things are back to normal.”

Byleth lightly shoves him, and he chuckles. “Your false flattery isn’t gonna make you my favorite student, Claude.”

He fakes hurt, putting his hands to his cheeks in mock surprise. “Teach! How could you _ever_ think I had ulterior motives? Or think that anything I will say to you as a flirtation is anything less than an honest compliment?”

“Because flirting has an end goal in mind. Yours,” she pokes his nose, “is that you want my admittance that you’re my favorite. Which you’re not.”

“I’m wounded, truly,” he says with a deep frown and a pronounced pout that’s nothing short of insincere. He clutches his chest over his heart with both hands. “To think that you would inflict such pain on one of your adorable fawns. The cutest one of them all, in fact.”

“The _cutest_ one? Really?”

“But of course! Don’t you know why fawns have white spots on their hides? To blend into their protective surroundings. And since you’re _our_ protective surrounding, I obviously need to match your cuteness if I wish to hide among you.”

She shakes her head, replying, “If that was your attempt at trying to flirt, it’s the worst one yet that I’ve heard from you, Claude. You can do better.”

He laughs again at that, and then a smug grin creeps up on his lips. He leans forward, asking, “Is that a challenge, my dear Teach? Because if it is, I’ll take you up on it. And I don’t like to lose, so you can bet I’ll put in all the effort until you turn as pink as a rose.”

Byleth meets his bluff, leaning forward, which has him lean away. The smugness from his expression starts to dissolve the closer she gets. His eyes are focused on her hand as she reaches up to twirl that single long lock of his hair around her finger.

“You can take it however you’d like, von Riegan.”

His eyes widen just a bit, and a hint of redness surfaces to his cheeks. She’s only playing around with him, of course. But, every time she manages to fluster him—just the thought of him blushing when he’s normally so collected… is it cruel to… _enjoy_ seeing him like that?

_He just looks so cute like that._

“Are you two done?” comes Shamir’s voice from behind them.

Byleth immediately scoots back, though Claude is frozen for half a second where he sits. She feels warm again, thinking back on what she just did. Maybe she shouldn’t have—no, no she definitely shouldn’t have. Then why did she…?

Shamir rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Look, what you two do and talk about alone is your business. But once again, I thought I’d save Claude’s ass from danger. Much like I did back then with the spider.”

“Danger?” he asks, the redness from his face now gone.

“Jeralt’s awake, and outside. He hasn’t seen you two yet. Need I say more?”

Claude stands up to stretch. “Nope, the message’s been received. And I _do_ still want to live to see tomorrow. Guess I owe you another one, Shamir.”

“Alright, fine. I heard you bragging last night about your culinary skills. You’re on breakfast duty today.”

“What?! _That’s_ how you want me to pay you back?”

“Unless you were lying about your skills in the kitchen,” she suggests, an eyebrow raised.

He sighs and rolls his neck. “No, I wasn’t. But I’m _not_ washing dishes. I always somehow break them if that’s the chore I’m assigned.”

“So I’ve heard. Well then, go get dressed. Just because your classmates can still snooze, doesn’t mean the knights can. You’ll be serving them first.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Claude gives Byleth a wave before he goes back to the boys’ tent to get ready for the day. As for her, she ignores Shamir’s stare, opting to instead finish her cup of water.

“Listen,” the older woman starts, “I don’t care about what I just saw. You’re as young as your students. It makes sense. But not everyone is as lenient as I am. Remember that.”

Her cryptic words are enough for Byleth to finish her drink before she’s retreating to her tent. Even though she lays down on her sleeping roll again, she can’t fall back into a slumber.

This persists all the way through the break of dawn when everyone is forced to wake up. Byleth is the first to change, leaving the girls to themselves in the tent. She goes to the boys’ one and calls from outside that they need to start getting up unless they want a bucket of cold water on them.

When she sees Claude cooking in their makeshift kitchen area, he winks at her playfully, and she shakes her head at him, noticing the line of knights waiting to be served.

Though, when she turns around, she feels warm again. Which is strange since the early morning is still cool, even with the current heat of the summer. Maybe she’s just embarrassed _she_ embarrassed _him_.

She shouldn’t have wrapped her finger around that lock. It’s just something she read in a book once. Has seen girls do it to their own hair. Then… why didn’t she do it to herself? It would make more sense, wouldn’t it?

_Honestly, I do not know what to do with you sometimes, Byleth._

_Why are you awake this early?_

_Such rudeness I continue to elicit from you. If you must know, more often than not, my sleep cycles match yours. This happens to be one of those times. Especially after that ghastly nightmare. Goodness, what dreadful imagery. Though I’m not surprised it occurred. Are you feeling better about it?_

_I am now that I’ve talked it over with Claude._

_Of course you would be. I should have expected that answer._

_Sothis, you keep saying things like that every time he—_

“Professor.”

She blinks out of her headspace to look at Yuri. He’s already dressed for their continued journey. Even has his makeup applied, though she notices it’s less than usual. He also has two bowls of breakfast in his hands.

“You need to eat,” he says, presenting her one.

“Oh. Thanks.”

She takes a seat on a log, and he sits down next to her. So comfortable he is already being in her presence. Unless he’s still trying to make up for the betrayal from before. There’s no need. She’s already forgiven him, but his effort is still appreciated.

“Try not to get mad as I say this,” which probably means she might get a little mad, at the very least, “but I overheard a part of your conversation with Claude earlier.”

“You were awake?”

“Much like him, I’m a light sleeper. Didn’t mean to overhear things—”

“But you eavesdropped anyway.”

“Only for part of it,” he says with a hint of a smile. “The part with Sylvain, specifically. But I went about my business after that. Claude sort of gave you a vague answer on how to deal with it.”

“He’s letting me decide. That’s how I took it.”

“Fair enough. Though, I’d like to offer a suggestion.”

“I’m listening,” she says, cutting into her egg with the side of her fork.

“The guy says he wants to kill you? Then let him try.”

Byleth looks at him questioningly. Yuri isn’t smiling. He simply eats from his bowl as she stares at him. When he’s finished his current bite, he clarifies, “You can easily hand us all of our asses. Even me.”

“You put up a good fight, though.”

“Very true,” he smiles just for a second before it falls, “but I agree with Claude. Letting contempt like that fester isn’t good. Have him fight you. Make him talk through his issues—he clearly has several. Use real weapons. Or at least, let him use a real one.”

“Will that really work?”

Yuri eats a piece of sausage as he stares on ahead at nothing. “How do you think I got my gang to be as loyal to me as they are? A gang full of felons, no less. By being nice and holding their hands? No. By being honest. Respecting them by treating them like adults.”

“Sylvain isn’t a gang member, and neither is my class as a whole.”

“No,” he agrees, then looks to her. “He _is_ an adult, though. One of the nobility who’s been spoiled his whole life. Even now as a student, with all that sleeping around he does. The blood he carries is why he gets away with things. But as you heard directly from him, he doesn’t at all appreciate it, does he?”

Byleth shrugs. “I don’t know if he likes being rich. But I do know he dislikes being reminded why he’s a noble in the first place.”

“Then knock him out of the sky. Bring him back to the ground. Remind him you’re not going to take his shit. He only likes being babied when he wants a woman’s affection. But I doubt he likes being babied outside of that.”

She meets his eyes, and he doesn’t break their contact. “How do you know this’ll work?”

“I can’t guarantee its success. But you know me from what I’ve shared. I’ve dealt with nobles of all kinds. Seen more than a couple of aristocratic brats like him before.”

Yuri scrapes up the last bit of their simple breakfast from his bowl before he says, “If he fights, and you push him, it’ll make him angry. But you need to talk to him through the fight. Talk to him in a way that makes him—at the very least—admit to the things that are boiling under the surface. It’s not just you he kind of hates. That much I can tell from what I know. But again, this is entirely your decision.”

He stands up, looking at her. “I won’t lie to you and say things will be just peachy by the end of it if you choose to do this. Might make things worse, actually. But it’s an option nonetheless. Use your better judgement. It might take you to my suggestion, or down a different path. I still wanted to throw in my two coins regardless if it’d help at all.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because you’re my professor, and my friend. Even if I’m a new addition to your daily life. I still owe you for helping me protect Abyss. So, I’m doing my best to keep the personal promise I made to myself about you. That’s all.”

Yuri doesn’t wait for her to give her thanks or ask more questions. Just excuses himself with a nod to join his other friends who are starting to help pack up everything in the caravans.

Sylvain is one of the people helping, taking the small wooden steaks out of the tent loops as Ignatz works on the other side. He must feel Byleth staring at him, because he stops, and glances over at her for a second. Seeing that she is in fact watching him has him look away quickly before going back to his work with a frown on his face.

It’s times like these when she wishes she had developed emotions much sooner. Maybe then she’d have more experience with friendships. But she doesn’t, and so she can only use her better judgement on how to resolve this.

_Use my gut. It’s never failed me before, so, let’s hope it stays that way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy beginning of Halloween month!! 🎃🕸️🕷️🍂🍁👻🦇💀⚰️
> 
> Dream sequences are a little challenging for me to write, so I hope this read smoothly. Also hope the imagery here didn't make it seem like Byleth has hidden fears about Sylvain, 'cause she doesn't. I was going for something else, but I dunno if you all read it in the way I intended. 😅 They'll begin to make up sooner than later. I can tell you that much, at least.
> 
> Things are still busy for me in terms of schoolwork (I've been so exhausted recently lol), so new chapters might end up being released every other week, at best, at least for a while. At worst, they'll be random weekends. We'll see how things go.
> 
> Oh, I also started playing FFXIV so uh, if anyone has any tips or tricks they'd like to share with me, please feel free to do so. I've never played a MMORPG before <strike>or any _Final Fantasy_ game for that matter</strike>, so I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. Kinda out of my element here. Lmao
> 
> Nothing else to say, except I'm hosting a [Sylveth weekend](https://twitter.com/sylvethlove) in November over on Twitter with tishtishart. If you're interested, feel free to check it out!
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


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